Vital Choices
by Intricacy
Summary: Trapped in a tradition now twisting away toward mystery, Draco must find a bride before he is killed, or before the Maidens themselves are dead. But should he choose the wrong one, he will find his demise unraveling. Everyone has their secrets. DHr. AntiD
1. Chapter 1

Vital Choices

_Being Pure-blood isn't as easy as it looks. Draco Malfoy has to marry his soul mate and none other. Out of four possible brides, one would kill him; one would steal his money; one would wrongly report him to the Ministry; and one would love him forever. Yet what they must go through to test the love may bring up losses and wrong choices, but only choices can be made if they survive._

Disclaimer: I don't own any recognizable characters, setting, etc. Applies to full story.

Please review. XD And to keep this story as in canon as a story like this can possibly be, I would advise you to read every paragraph for this first chapter instead of skimming… like I do a lot of times. Heh, heh.

Oh, and, by the way. I'm aware that Durmstrag is an all-boy's school and Ariise comes from there. It'll be explained later.

* * *

**To Draco Malfoy**

**Malfoy Manor**

**From Lucius Malfoy**

**Prisoner #4862**

**Occupant of Cell #28**

**Relation to Receiver: Father**

**Business: Marriage**

**Reason of Being in Azkaban: Supporting the Dark Lord Throughout the War**

**Checked by the Ministry of Magic for Precautious Reasoning,**

**As Made by Law According to the Criminal Communication and Distribution Precaution Act**

_Dear Draco,_

_It has come to my attention that, as you are steadily growing older, you are preparing for matrimony. As much as I grieve in not being able to be there with you to help you, I will do my best through these letters. Azkaban's bars will not hold the heart of me. You have made me proud, son, throughout your years, and I will try to guide you through the Choosing._

_Do you remember, Draco, when you asked me when I met your mother when you were four years of age? I told you then, "I met her through a pure-blooded process, a process that is terrible but complete and beautiful. You will learn about it when you become of age." You did not understand then, and you never asked the question once more, but it has come to the time when your choices must be made. A wrong decision may cost you your life._

_There are several things that distinguish the pure-blooded wizards and the half-bloods and Mudbloods. One of these items is tradition. You should be proud of these momentous occasions, as am I. Some of these, you will not be particularly fond of, but remember that your ancestors one thousand years ago went through the same ordeals as you._

_Fate is working its magic once more. It has found its four maidens of choice, one of which you must choose to wed. One of them would kill you, should you wed her. Another will be compelled by greed and steal your fortune. A third will betray you when you need her most, and the last will be your intended soul mate. Chose wisely, Draco, for I would hate to see you mourn over grief if your bride goes against you._

_To aid you in your choice, you will find a silver structure guarded by a glass case in the middle of the sitting room on the first floor, in the main wing. Every week you are use the silver figure as a Portkey to transport yourself and the maidens to an area where you will be given an activity or goal to accomplish. To return, you must find the Portkey and touch it. It can be anywhere. I have been lost in the wilderness for a week and a half before returning to the Malfoy Manor, in desperate need of a shower. On other occasions, you may be led to a ballroom to dance until they deem it worthy you shall return, and the Portkey will appear anywhere, even in the bowl of Firewhiskey. You will not need to worry about your attire; you will automatically be wearing suitable clothing for your adventure. The only thing you need to bring with you is your wand, and locate your wand before you activate the Portkey. One of the maidens had to buy a new one because she had lost it in the wilderness that one time. Your adventures will always be a surprise to you._

_There is no easy way out. No one—not even the maidens, for they have no idea what is in store for their future, for none of them can be Seers—can tell you who is to be your future bride. That choice is yours to make. For as long as your Choosing lasts, fate has lost control of you. No Seer can tell you which is your bride of choice. Once the choice is made and the marriage set, however, fate will play once more into your life, into its role. The game shall end once you propose to a maiden._

_Do you recall the name of Valice? They were a powerful pureblooded family, but they had but one offspring who had irrationally made the wrong decision and was killed. Their line ended there. Another family, whose name is so low now I myself cannot even remember, had its fortune stolen and lost all reputation. Regulus Black, a fellow Death Eater, had been betrayed on the night of his engagement._

_Do not tarnish the Malfoy name, Draco. Do not let it die. Your ancestors have fought so hard to keep it alive, to keep it wealthy. I would hate for you to be the last generation._

_I have taught you before there is no such thing as love. For this one time, I must make an exception. It is a rare thing, a blessed feeling, that is to be spared as little as possible. If you are to feel the same passion about a woman as I had felt for your mother, you will have chosen the right one. And when you have a child, you will experience it once more._

_I confess that I have been weakened by such feelings. I assure you that you will as well, for if you protest against it as Regulus had, you will choose the wrong maiden and be shamed forever. You will recognize the feeling once you experience it. Open up; it will help._

_Should you need any more advice, or should any of this ritual be blurred in your mind, do not hesitate to respond to me._

_Sincerely,_

_Your Father_

A man, no older than twenty-one years of age, stood in his room, reading the letter carefully. When he had finished, he set it down, regarding the subject wearily. He was not exactly sure that he was ready for matrimony, seeing as the war had just ended and suffered a dispute in the Ministry. They had argued where to put him. Some had said that he was on the dark side, and he deserved to be put into Azkaban with his father. Others had said he was a mere child and was confused, as any other child would be in his place.

At long last, they had decided he need not go to Azkaban, for he had never committed murder. He had aided in the greatest murder, it was true, but he had never murdered and forced to continue in fear. He attended numerous courts and was so exhausted from them, he wished that they would make a decision immediately, going to Azkaban or not.

"Draco?" a voice called meekly from the door. He turned to greet his mother. During the war, she had been terribly frail, and though she had recovered greatly since it ended considering the situation, she still wore a great stain in her heart that would never be washed away until Lucius returned to the house. "Would you like to meet them? The Maidens?"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, which he no longer used gel for after the war, due to the fact that it was difficult to find a shower or place to bathe and the mud that dried was harder to wash off when he did locate a pond or lake to wash in. "Allow me a few moments to change, Mother," he said. "I will be back in approximately five minutes."

She nodded as he closed the door, rummaging through his dress robes. He at last settled on one, a black one, like many other of his other robes. He changed into it and combed through his hair one last time before following his mother to the sitting room.

There, on the emerald green sofa sitting against the wall, the four maidens were seated, waiting quietly. "You are limited to only the information your are given," she said softly. Narcissa then began to introduce the first one, a beautiful female with long blond hair and alluring deep green eyes. "This is Liah. She is a year younger than you, born on the sixteenth of May. She graduated from Beauxbatons in the top ten percent of her year."

Liah smiled charmingly as she said, "How do you do?"

He offered a small smile in return and said, "It's enough to say that I am delighted to meet your acquaintance."

"The second," Narcissa said, moving on to a dark-haired witch with pale skin with clear blue eyes, "is a year younger than you as well, born on February 8th. Her name is Ariise. She graduated Durmstrag as the third best in her year."

Ariise did not beam as Liah did, but offered a curt nod. Draco did the same in reply.

"The third, I feel as if I have nothing new to introduce to you. Name of Hermione, graduated as top student in her year in all of Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrag, but graduated from Hogwarts all the same. You know all of it already and more, do you not?" Narcissa said.

Draco nodded, watching Hermione peculiarly. She, in return, gave him a terrible cold gaze as she said, "Do not say a word."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he said in response, a smirk growing.

The fourth, a lively red-haired girl, turned out to be a Hogwarts drop-out, Delilah. She was two years younger than him, born on the twenty-first of January. He, however, had been distracted and ignored the giggling girl, wondering why, exactly, Granger was here. What was her role?

When they were finished, Narcissa introduced Draco before leaving them to himself. He led them to their wing, which supplied their bedrooms, bath, dining room, lounge, and library. It came to no surprise for Draco when he understood that Hermione had quickly chosen the one closest to the library. Indeed, he even chuckled and left the girls to themselves.

"Did you see him laugh?" cried Delilah. Hermione noticed a slight hint of an American accent. "Oh, he is in love with me already. Did you see him? He was looking right my way!"

"Do not flatter yourself," Liah scoffed, watching Delilah in a disapproving gaze. "Have you noticed that he is highly educated? What would he want with a drop-out such as yourself?"

Delilah cast a scornful look at Liah. "Just because I am not as clever as he does not mean that I am incapable of his love."

"His love! Do you think it was directed at you?" Liah said, greatly offended. "I would rather die than admit to that!"

"Argue all you want, bicker to your heart's desire," Hermione cut in, "but some of us are tired. Can you please hold it off 'til morning?"

Her request was reasonable, and they found nothing sensible to protest against it. Biting their lip, they reluctantly nodded and stepped aside, casting each other one last cold glance before striding into their rooms with an arrogant air to it. Hermione sighed, slightly exasperated. She looked up to Ariise, who stood there, examining the sculpture in the hallway.

"Do you remember how you came? Do you remember what happened for you to arrive here?" Hermione asked hesitantly.

Ariise considered the thought before replying, "No, I don't. Fate works its magic in special ways." With that, the subject was closed and Ariise departed into her own room, disappearing as the door closed behind her.

Looking around, she found there was nothing to do, and she was, in all truth, rather tired herself. She bid herself a good night as she quickly showered and changed. As she brushed her teeth, she watched her reflection in the mirror. Here she was, one of her arch enemy's four possible brides, looking at herself, via through his mirror. It seemed impossible, unreal. She wished it had never happened. She didn't even understand it--no one had bothered to ever tell her anything.

And oh, how she hated being kept in the dark, being kept ignorant! She was not the brightest witch in her age for nothing!

She climbed into her bed, though she was no longer tired. She had asked herself too many questions and she was anxious to find their answer. She felt once more like the eleven-year-old school girl she once was, raising her hand as high as she could every time that a professor had asked a question, with an eager, unsettling desire to answer.

She didn't dare venture into the library; she would be caught looking this way and that, and she would delay her sleep even further. Rather, she wandered out back to the sitting room that they were in previously and looked out the large window that covered much of the left side of the wall. Hills were rolling and the trees loomed black and large in the distance. The crescent moon was bright, shining with such fervor it seemed impossible that it was also the same cold, cruel, distant orb that hung in the air with a terribly cold air that forced Lupin to transform on those majestic nights.

The stars twinkled with such a burst of energy outside, as if seeing who could outshine the other. She smiled slightly, the still scenery reflecting in her eyes.

And then he came.

He watched her, so developed, so enthralled by the beautiful picture painted by nature that a smile lit up her features. She held no resemblance to the girl that he knew so often, the girl he hated, that always beat him at every academic subject no matter how hard he tried. The girl that would through cruel comments at him, that would cast cold glares over her shoulder, the girl that so mercilessly slapped him that one time in their third year. And watching her now, so peaceful and calm, made him furious.

"Granger," he said, his voice deep and quiet.

Startled, she jumped and looked over. "What--" she started, but she stopped and narrowed her eyes. "Malfoy," she said, tilting her head ever so slightly to recognize his presence. "What do you want? Come to ridicule me, perhaps?"

Draco held in his own retort, his eyes glimmering slightly. It was clear that the bushy-haired girl before him had never heard of such Pureblooded engagements, and it delighted him to know that he was aware of something she wasn't. "What is there to ridicule?" he said, smirking. "Clearly, you have never heard of the ritual."

Hermione stiffened visibly at the attack on her knowledge and crossed her arms, her lips pursed. "One can always learn," she shot back.

"Then it may be time that you learn," Draco said, his eyes sharp, "that the Maidens chosen by fate are _not_ to be considered in ignorance. They have been carefully selected by fate, based on their personality and behavior."

"I don't believe in fate," Hermione said shortly, standing up from her position at the couch. Her hands were placed on her hips as though she dared Malfoy to argue with her.

He dared.

"You don't have to believe in something in order for it to exist," he said in the same clipped tone that Hermione had used, and she had no response for that, for his statement was all too true. She hadn't believed in magic for years before her Hogwarts letter, but it had been there all along. She fell silent and retreated from the conversation--or, more accurately, argument.

Just as Draco was starting to leave, Hermione stopped him and said, "What are the specifics?"

He was so startled at _her_, know-it-all, bookworm, proud Gryffindor, asking _him_ a question, that he stopped suddenly and said, "What?"

Hermione then grew annoyed, crossing her arms and repeating, "What are the specifics? Your dear mother only gave us a brief overview before you arrived."

He nodded and shrugged slightly, showing his lack of concern. "Of four maidens," he explained quickly, "one will kill me should I marry her; another will betray me. The third will run away with my fortune and the fourth shall be my soul mate."

At this, Hermione let out a ridiculous laugh and repeated unbelievingly, "Soul mate?" Draco nodded, not seeing what was quite so funny. He had grown up with the term as a fact of life. "Don't tell me you actually _believe_ that rubbish." The scowl on his face told her enough. He opened his mouth in defense but she quickly interrupted him, saying, "Well, if that's what you think, I guess it's acceptable that I leave."

"You can't," he said quickly. "Maidens can only be dismissed through either death or when a Maiden has been chosen."

His response left Hermione agape. "Through death?" she repeated, horrified. When met with Draco's solemn face, she collapsed back onto the couch, holding her head with her fingers. She then shook her head, unwilling to believe such an absurd idea. "You're crazy. You're bloody crazy!"

Draco paid no attention to her rants as she grew more and more hysterical, the idea of being _trapped_ in a household belonging to one she hated so. Seven years of seething hate and great dislike has its mark, and the mark was a strong one that was not easily washed away. Naturally, she was horrified, aghast, and all things that are synonyms with "terrified" and "repulsed."

Draco was faring much better than she, having anticipated people that he strongly despised. Granted, Granger was nothing like that, but he had prepared himself somewhat better than she had. He could understand her pain, though he'd never voice the thought out loud. To suddenly find oneself in an unfamiliar place, all plans ruined--like a piece of your memory had been washed and wiped out. It could be terrifying, it could be aggravating.

It could be everything at once.

She didn't break down and cry. He didn't expect her to. Instead, her eyes suddenly grew hard. "Well, now I know, Malfoy," she said bitterly. "Not only are you an egoistical jerk, but you're also a damned Pureblood." She then departed, leaving not another word between them, heading back to her own room.

Sleep came, and she was grateful for it, able to relax her mind and hopefully escape the terrifying thoughts about her, even if it were just for a few hours.

They awoke the next day, some earlier than others. Hermione was one of the first up in her wing, and Ariise rose not many minutes after her. They dined in utter silence, apprehensive about the day. Last to wake was Delilah, who was not a particularly pleasant morning person.

"What are you looking at?" she shot at Hermione as she exited her room, dressed and rubbing her eyes.

Hermione looked up, startled. "My pancakes?" she replied, rather confused. Shrugging, she returned to her food and ate, ignoring her surroundings the best she could as Liah and Delilah continued their previous night's bicker. It was obvious it wasn't to be a very pleasant stay.

And when they had, at last, all eaten their fill, they walked over to the sitting room together. Delilah's and Liah's arguments never faltered once on the way there. Draco looked up at them and said, "I trust you slept well?"

"I did. Your manor is simply excellent, Draco," Liah said, smiling brilliantly. Delilah readily agreed.

"I'm glad," he replied, though his eyes held no emotion and remained blank. "You'll need it today. We're going to our first adventure."

"Adventure?" Hermione repeated, somewhat startled.

"Adventure," he repeated, confirming Hermione's words, smirking at her. He tapped the glass cage he was standing nearby and and it disintegrated, revealing a silver figure. "If everyone would kindly hold a part of this figure," he started, "we can continue."

Though hesitant, they obliged, and the Portkey activiated. It was wiry yet smooth, with a cool metal feel to it, Hermione realized, as she clasped her hand around it. Then the world was swirling around them, and at last, it calmed and was still.

They were at a shore when Hermione looked around, the sand cool beneath her feet, the sun hidden behind the clouds. The waves gently rolled, slapping onto the rocks and spraying a fine mist into the air. A calm, cool breeze brushed through. They were the only ones present.

"What do we do from here?"

Draco did not reply immediately, but set his gaze out at the horizon. "As there is nothing here on shore," he began, turning to look straight at Hermione, a small smirk playing at his lips, "I'd assume we have to go underwater."

Hermione turned back to the waves and the water, and suddenly, what once looked calm and peaceful now appeared to be cold and forbidden.

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Terrible cliffhanger, if you ask me. Ah well. What's done is done. I haven't finished all the story yet, either; I never find enough time.

Please review. :D


	2. Chapter 2

**JANUARY 2007 -- CHAPTER TWO REWRITE** -- any out of sync comments from chapter three to chapter thirteen that may be mentioned involving diving underwater and Malfoy and Hermione swimming together (and the effect, such as emotion) is now to be disregarded. However, I will try to sort through it and delete them. Thank you!

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Chapter Two

To Hermione Granger, there are two main different categories of situations in the world: the good, and the bad. Of course, there would always be the neutral somewhere in between, but to her, a neutral situation didn't exist, as it had to be comprehended as an event for better or for worse. Every good situation, for sure, has some bad qualities, and thus, vice versa. Now, according to the situation of having to dive underwater, especially in the case when there was no gillyweed to eat and Hermione wasn't an avid swimmer, could be both excellent or terrible. She had always wanted to see what was beneath the waters, and still, she was terrified.

"What if we are unable to swim?" she asked apprehensively. "Why do we need to do this? Can't we just, well--Apparate back?"

Draco smirked. "It's part of the process," he said, "and Apparation is only for the real world status. This is a figment of the Portkey's imagination that we are living in. We need to find that silver figure to get back. And as for the swimming issue..." He looked around, examining each one thoroughly. "I believe you can all swim?"

Liah beamed as she nodded. Delilah confirmed his words to be true, and Ariise had admitted to being able to swim.

"Then it is all settled," he said, stepping forward.

"I can't."

Her hesitant words were like a whisper, like the passing breeze, it blended in with the sound of the splashing sea so well it could barely be distinguished. She avoided his surprised yet triumphant gaze as she watched the ocean come at her, spreading out its claws, licking her ankles before retreating, only to come once more. She blinked furiously, trying to do away her tears that threatened to fall as she had given up a bit of her pride in front of her sworn enemy. It was difficult enough with friends. She did not need him to laugh at her tears as well.

"You don't?" he repeated, his eyes glinting with a certain light that Hermione grew weary of. "Is it true? That you--Hermione Granger, cleverest witch of the age--do not know how to swim?" A smirk started to grow across his face.

At those words, she spun around at him, her wet eyes flashing ablaze, with a piercing look that stung like fire. "I never took lessons. I was afraid. Are you happy, now, Malfoy?" she spat viciously. Tears began to stream down her face, her voice quivering with sadness yet controlled in a fierce tone as she continued. "The waves devoured my dad. He drowned; they never found his body. Are you happy that you forced it out of me? Are you?"

Draco merely watched her as she spoke, unable to speak for several moments. "I--I didn't know. I thought in the Triwizard--" he started, but she cut him off.

"Why can't we just summon it?" Hermione protested. It seemed logical.

"It doesn't respond to spells," Draco explained quickly. "And Apparating won't work either, before you ask."

Hermione nodded, taking all the information into account. She opened her mouth, but she couldn't get her voice to work, and all that came out was a feeble sound. "I'll--I'll just stay here, then," she said weakly, sitting on the shore, watching the horizon. "You can all go, and I'll--I'll just... wait."

Draco let out a bark-like laugh and said, "Well, I apologize Granger, but that can't be done." His expression, however, proved that he wasn't sorry at all; his eyes glinted with a certain amusement and sparked with enthusiasm.

To this, Hermione's helpless situation faded from her mind as her eyes narrowed, fueled with the anger of her enemy's arrogance. "And why can't I?" she challenged. "Does it insult you? Or must--"

"You _can't_ because it's against the rules!" Malfoy interrupted loudly, covering over Hermione's rambling demands. "It states that all m--"

Malfoy was never blessed with the oppurtunity to finish what he had meant to say, however, for grief struck. The water started stirring, ripping outwards, out of sync with the continuous splashing of the waves. All five of them froze and looked apprehensively, and slightly frightened, though a few would never admit it, toward the water.

From the ocean acended a great creature that somewhat resembled a deformed human with translucent skin and gills and five times a normal man's height and width. In his right hand, he held a powerful trident that glittered of gold. His eyes focused in onto the five and his eyes narrowed, his grip on the magnificent trident tightening.

"Is--Is that a _merman_?" Ariise said as they started to back away.

"I think so," Hermione agreed as they turned around to sprint down the endless beach, "but I thought they couldn't breath out of water!"

"So did I!" Draco yelled back over the roar of the merman. "But this isn't reality!"

"Don't zink!" Liah screamed at them as the merman advanced toward them, his stride much faster than any of theirs. "Run!"

All of them readily complied to Liah's command without second thought. They were soon out of breath and Hermione's legs started to grow weak, ready to collapse beneath her. Her knees felt wobbly and it constantly felt like if she took another step, they would buckle. Her chest felt as though it was on fire and her throat felt as though a hole was punched through it. She could hardly breath without feeling searing pain stretching along her throat down to her lungs.

But she didn't stop running. _Some great first impression of an adventure_, Hermione thought bitterly as she tried to maintain her pace. She squeezed her eyes shut tight as she felt ready to tear. Opening them again, she looked around her. The merman was gaining on them.

In spite of herself, Hermione almost laughed. She never was one to run; she was one to fight. She stopped and stared the creature down; they would never make it if they kept on running. After all, the adventures could be deadly!

"What are you doing?" Liah shouted at her. "Are you crazy? Keep running!"

But Hermione did not move; rather, she removed her wand from the pocket of her robes and pointed it at the creature. "Mermen don't know magic," she told herself in a low whisper, reminding herself of the lessons they'd learned at Hogwarts. "They are greedy creatures and can be defeated with..." Her grip on her wand tightened as she prepared herself. Screaming out the incantation and waving her wand in an 'S' formation, a golden jet shot at the mermen.

His eyes widened and he tried to defend with his staff, but to no avail; he disappeared in a brilliant array of lights and the staff flew up in the air before falling back down on the sand.

The others, who had stopped running to watch the spectacle, did not move. Finally, Hermione advanced and picked up the staff gingerly; it was rather heavy. Using it for support, she slowly made her way to sit on the floor to give her exhausted legs a rest, breathing deeply.

The rest of them followed suit, trying to regain composure. Hermione put the staff down, but as she did so, something caught her eye. Frowning, she brushed the sand away from it. Carved into the staff were words.

"Advance further for death, not love; and thus we steal from land above. Greatest treasure is what we seek... What belonged to you is now ours to keep," Hermione said faintly, tracing the words with her fingers. "Talents paid will help you not; come home to rest and join the lot. Below the surface does home dwell, and below that is fiery hell."

Ariise looked up at Hermione, frowning. "What did you say?"

Hermione shrugged, rolling the staff in her hands, reading the poem over again. "I don't know," she said. "It's engraved into this staff."

Automatically, the other four headed toward it and Hermione stepped back to allow them room, contemplating the idea. "Advance further for death, not love?" Delilah said, frowning. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It should mean that their treasure is heavily guarded, and the Portkey is likely among its stash," Ariise said, looking up from person to person.

"Then we should head into the water and look for the stash," Draco proposed, standing up. The other started up, too, agreeing.

Hermione shook her head. "No--no! If so, then why does it say that to avoid death, they steal?" she said, crawling back toward the staff.

Draco sighed in exasperation. "It's what it means, Granger. There's not much to it! You won't die if you go into the water, you know!"

Hermione refused to hear it and was once more suddenly blinded by the memory of her grandfather drowning. She sniffed slightly and tried to keep her tears in check, but one slipped onto the soft sand; only Ariise noticed. "No," she whispered, tracing the lettering delicately. "There's more to this. I _know_ it."

"Eet ees obvious," Liah said huffily, tossing her hair over her shoulder, a hand on her hip. She frowned and said, "Why will you not go into ze water? Eet ees where ze Portkey ees!"

"No," Hermione said, reading the poem over again. "That's not right--it doesn't make any sense--"

"It makes _perfect_ sense," Delilah said, clearly annoyed. Her eyes were crossed and her brow was furrowed as she stared down at Hermione, tapping her foot impatiently. She sighed loudly and said, "Get a move on, will you?"

"Let us go," Liah said, turning around. "If she does not want to go, zen she will not go, but she will not delay _us_." Delilah reluctantly agreed and Ariise looked between Hermione and the other two Maidens, torn between a decision.

"I thought it was against the rules?" Ariise said, frowning, turning to Draco.

Here, Malfoy smirked slightly and said, "I lied." At Ariise's disapproving look, he defended himself with, "Like _she_ wouldn't seize the chance to tease me!"

Liah didn't care either way and interrupted, "Let us go!" Delilah nodded, annoyed with the waiting, tutting under her breath. Hermione paid them no attention and they were resorted to departing without her, heading into the water.

"...Below that is... fiery hell?" Hermione frowned; fire clashed with water. It was quite obvious that it was not in the water at all. She rolled the staff again, and suddenly, she was struck with new awareness. She had started in the middle of the poem; it was time to find the actual beginning.

"Talents paid will help you not? No..." she muttered, biting her lip. Her eyes scanned the small lettering as she continued, "Below surface... No, that's not quite right..." Her eyes suddenly widened with alarm as she stood up, staff in hand, and pelted after the four. "Wait!" she yelled out, stumbling over the sand. "I figured it out! Wait!"

By now, however, they were already quite far away and did not hear her. If they did, they had imitated the ears of a deaf man and ignored her. They stopped at the water and each one jumped in, disappearing beneath the cruel blue waves.

Hermione stopped and watched the scene in horror, her grip on the staff tightening. Putting forth an inkling of hope, she picked up her pace and ran faster, dragging the heavy staff against the sand. "Wait!" she shouted out. "Wait! Come back! Wait--"

They were gone, looking for the Portkey in the wrong place. Hermione screamed inwardly with silent rage and bit her lip, not knowing what to do. They would not return until they found it, she knew, and they would never find it; but neither could she reach them.

With hope, she sent up a few sparks with her wand, but no one responded. She tried again but recieved the same result. Finally, she gave up and put the staff aside, trudging into the water and casting a bubble-head charm on herself.

The water splashed around her ankles in a soothing manner, as if trying to lure her in deeper. Her heart started to pound loudly in her chest that she could no longer hear the waves splashing as she took another step forward, then another. Her eyes were half closed, wincing, as each step brought her forward. The water was now at her knees.

The waves washed over her, until it was waist high. Looking up, she was startled to see the high tide splash down upon her, sweeping her below the water, her body carried away by the waves.

She could feel nothing but her lungs being crushed. For one fleeting moment, she was absolutely terrified and groped around her, but her head then was smashed against a rock that stole her conscious state, and she lost all.

It was black.

---------------

A rush of air flowed through her lungs as she coughed the salty sea water out, rolling over on her side. Above her hovered four faces, different emotions ranging through them. She gasped for air and paid the looks on attention, choking somewhat hard. Her throat felt raspy and it ached somewhat.

"Damn it, Granger!" Draco said, aggravated. "Just go ahead and get yourself drowned, why don't you?"

"Are you all right?" Ariise said, kneeling down beside Hermione. It was an ignorant question, to be sure, for how could she be all right? But on instinct, it was asked, and Hermione managed a strangled nod, despite the pounding in her chest. "That means no," Ariise said, sighing. "You should rest some."

Hermione was thankful for this and tried to regulate her breathing, her hand on her chest. Liah didn't seemed concerned at all, and, with a quick wave of her wand, dried herself. "Well? Why 'ave you brought us all out 'ere for?"

Only then did she recall the reason as to why she had plunged into the water. Ariise frowned at Liah. "She's still recovering; give her some time." Liah sniffed and turned away, holding her head high.

Hermione shook her head and reached for the staff. "It--it's below the earth," Hermione said. "You would have found nothing in the sea."

Draco frowned. "What do you mean?" he said coldly, his eyes glaring at her. He hated being proved wrong, and the current situation reminded him all too much of their Hogwarts days.

Ariise, to spare Hermione from using too much energy while she was still recovering, took up the staff for herself. She scanned it over, her eyes calculating every word. Hermione watched Ariise with apprehension, afraid that she might be wrong--even though she was quite certain she wasn't.

A slow smile started to crack when Ariise put the staff down. "Of course," she muttered. "It's quite obvious. The reference of hell is below earth, not the sea." She chuckled slightly, her eyes flickering with amusement. In truth, she did not seem remorseful at all at her lack of perception and understanding of the Portkey's true position.

Draco, however, was not so deterred. Frowning, he demanded the staff and Ariise willingly gave it to him, her eyes still sparkling. He read it over, his lips moving as he followed each word. Approaching the end, he cursed loudly and threw the staff onto the sand. For, once again, Draco Malfoy ultimately _despised_ being proved wrong, and once again, he found himself in such a position, shot down by none other than Hermione Granger.

Again.

Delilah sighed and shook her head, her red locks falling around her. "If it's below ground," she said, crossing her arms, "then how are we supposed to find it? Dig the whole area, I suppose?"

The rest seemed quite puzzled by this proposed idea, for it was completely unethical to uncover the entire stretch of beach that disappeared on all views of the horizon--that is, excluding the ocean water. Doubt crossed their faces, save Hermione, who was only just beginning to recover and hoisted herself up.

"The staff is made of gold," she said, coughing in between breaths. They looked at her strangely, waiting for her to continue. Draco, however, looked in the opposite direction, quietly seething with anger at her leadership role. This was _exactly_ how he predicted her attitude--the obnoxious know-it-all, and frankly, he was sick of it. "If they are attracted to treasure, then let them come and retrieve the staff. They will bring us with them."

The first to respond was Ariise, whose sparkle of humor never quite left her eyes. "Mmm, and quite so," she agreed, bending over and lifting the heavy staff. She looked over to Liah, who adorned several accessories. "Hand me over three pieces of your jewelry," Ariise demanded.

Liah looked taken aback as she withdrew, drawing her arms close. "What?" she repeated, believing that she had not heard Ariise clearly. When her fears had been affirmed, she laughed incredulously. "These are priceless artifacts of my muzzer's!"

Ariise sighed impatiently, keeping her hand outstretched. "It will be returned," she assured, hints of annoyance rising in her voice. She was quite like Draco and Hermione, easily irritated by such pettiness. When Liah still appeared reluctant, she said impatiently, "Do you not want to return?"

At this, Liah sighed loudly and muttered something incoherent, removing a few of her accessories and placed them gingerly into Ariise's open palm. Ariise, however, did not care much for the antiquity of the items and roughly gave them to the other three, despite Liah's protests. Delilah appeared quite delighted with the elegant jeweled ring that she had been given and immediately placed it upon her finger, ignorant of Liah's looks of dislike and annoyance.

"Oh, I simply _adore_ this ring!" Delilah said fondly, examining the careful cuts of the glittering clear jewel. "I have a dress that accompanies this ring quite well, I believe. How _did_ they get the gold on this ring to stay? It appears to be a fortune."

"It _is_ a fortune," Liah said scornfully, looking quite angry that Delilah had been given her jewelry. "And likely much more than _you'll_ ever be able to afford."

At this, Hermione had to keep in a laugh, for the latter comment strongly reminded her of Malfoy. But she had no time to point this out, even if she had intended to, for the ground began to rumble, vibrations echoing.

"What is that?" Delilah jumped, shocked. She moved closer to Draco--a feat that Hermione didn't quite understand--as her eyes flickered across the open sand that was piling over itself. "What's happening?"

Draco had no time for an answer if he even had one, as the vibrations had reached them and suddenly stopped. It became quite still, and eerily so, that Hermione thought she would rather the strange vibrations than such unusual quietness. And she was quite right, for the creatures had found the valuables they'd quested for, and they began to be swallowed up by the sand, leaving barely a trace behind.

For the second time that day, Hermione felt as though she were drowning, as she couldn't breathe and the oxygen was forced out of her lungs. She struggled, but to no avail, as the sand was competing with her and was winning. She didn't have to worry long, however, as she fell through and landed in an open space, able to breathe quite well once more.

She looked around and found her companions in the same state as she. Their attire was covered with sand, and the carefully done hair of Liah's was now put to ruins, filled with the grainy and damp sand that clung to her. At this disheveled appearance, Hermione forced herself to bite back a laugh, though she was quite sure--with her bushy hair and all--that she would appear worse.

The first thing she noticed was another such creature--and another, and another--that had appeared to them earlier, transparent and looking as a distorted human. Their greedy eyes scanned over them as Liah shrank back, horrified, clutching a few of her most beloved items fiercely, shaking somewhat.

"What do you want?" Liah whispered, her eyes wide. Their grins widened as they strode toward her, fingers reaching. Hermione watched the scene unfold, as the others did, frowning.

"Take your wand out," Hermione said. Liah did not quite hear her, and Hermione repeated herself. Only then did Liah fumble for her wand, but it was too late, and her necklace was already being tugged on. Hermione sighed wearily and stood up, removing her own wand and pointed at them, demanding them to halt.

The creatures' eyes flickered over toward Hermione and their eyes narrowed on her wand. They exchanged brief glances and quickly retreated. A sigh of relief echoed throughout each of them, until a grander creature appeared before them, just as large as the one they had first encountered, holding a staff as well. And the first thing he saw was the staff that was clenched in Ariise's hands.

"The staff--it holds the mark of my brother's." His eyes narrowed as he focused onto the five humans that surrounded him in a clump. "You have killed him." When he was answered with no response, he looked toward Ariise, his eyes glinting maliciously. "Give me the staff."

Ariise was not as intimidated as the creature had hoped, for she said, "Under one condition. That you give us the silver, wiry item that we desire and you, in turn, will recieve the staff."

The creature grinned slightly, showing a set of crooked teeth. From behind him, he removed the Portkey they had been looking for. "This, is it?" he said. Ariise nodded. "Why should I give you this, when you have killed my brother?"

"Why should you steal when you have more than the victim?" Ariise returned coldly, standing to meet the creature's gaze.

The creature then smirked. "Very well, then. I accept your bargain." Ariise was only about to give over the staff when a voice had interrupted her.

"No!"

Hermione had stood up, looking directly at Ariise. "Don't do it," she said. "That artifact is the fake one!"

The creature rounded on the bushy-haired brunette and said in a low tone, "Do you dare question me?"

Hermione sniffed slightly and folded her arms. "I don't question you," she retorted, "I _know_ you." She coughed slightly, a reminder of her previous drowning experience. The creature arched in eyebrow, telling her to continue. "You are the brother of the king of the seaman, of whom you have rejected, due to your obsessive crave for magic. You cheat, you steal, you lie. And," she continued, looking at the staff, "giving you the staff of your brother will give you complete domination over the seas."

The creature's face was contorted with searing rage, having no response to fact.

"We have something you desire, and you hold something we desire. Bring forth the true artifact, and I will bargain with you," Hermione said strictly, adopting the commanding voice of the Transfiguration professor, McGonagall.

The king sneered as he brought the figure forth from the air. "Satisfied?" he snarled.

Hermione frowned and cast a quick spell on it. As it glowed purple, she nodded, content.

"And I will propose the competition," he said, rounding on the whole group together, "for you are under my dominion." His lips curled into a gleeful snarl as he said, "A riddle. I will propose one, and _one_ selected one of you will answer... _alone_, without aid or assistance. Should you win, you will receive what you desire. Should you lose, I receive the staff and you will become my slaves for eternity." He suddenly turned to the red-headed girl that cowered in the back. "You! I call you to take up my proposal."

Hermione already sighed and put her head down, aware of defeat already. Draco looked the other direction. Ariise stared straight ahead, watching the two closely, while Liah was still disturbed at the loss of her precious possessions.

The creature grinned slightly and Delilah visibly shivered. "I will now recite my riddle," he informed her. "Listen carefully, for I will not repeat, understood?" Delilah nodded meekly, and he thus began:

_I am what logic confuses,_

_I am what fiction defies._

_I am the resounding truth_

_That is coated with lies._

_I am direct in a subtle way_

_And possibilities are wide;_

_And now, I ask,_

_Who am I?_

Delilah faltered at this, biting her lip nervously. Her eyes flickered between the creature--whose delight was growing more apparent by the second--and the ground, looking abashed. Every second that passed by screamed murder in Hermione's ears as her heart started to pound violently with her apprehension.

"Don't know, miss?" he said, his grin growing. "Time is running short!"

Suddenly, her eyes flickered downward once more as she whispered, "A riddle."

The grin was removed from the creature's face as his piercing gaze examined her. "What did you say?" he said coldly.

She couldn't bring herself to look at him, and repeated, "You are a riddle."

At this, Hermione let out a breath of relief, surprised that Delilah had gotten it--she herself, in fact, had not guessed it. Frowning, she wondered briefly of how Delilah had figured it out, for she did not appear to be the most logical person. When Hermione met with no answer she pushed it to the back of her mind and decided to ignore it.

The deadly, stone cold expression upon the king's face hardened before turning into a raging sneer, thrashing about his trident. "You--you have cheated!" he roared. "I will not let you free!"

Despite his raging cries of war and promises to keep them as slaves forever, the deal was made and the outcome was received, and they quickly held onto the Portkey together, watching the raging creature start to disappear. They found themselves in the sitting room and, though it was a part of the manor that Hermione despised, she was thankful--for once--of meeting it.

Liah had considerably calmed when her possessions were recovered to her, with Delilah's reluctance to return the ring. Delilah, however, was not quite so, and still appeared rather shaken.

"I assume, not the best first impression of an adventure?" Draco commented, seeing the outcome.

Hermione only sniffed and turned away without a word, heading to the library. She needed to relax for a moment, after having drowned twice that day. Talk about dangerous! She sighed, massaging her temples as she worked her way through the shelves, running her hand across the spines of the books. Her hand stopped at one binding and she read the glittering print.

Startled, she read the title again, and without thinking, pulled the book out and settled herself into the most remote corner she could find. After all, with a book as this, she would _need_ all the concentration she could get.

Her eyes flickered once more to the cover of the book, a small smile set on her face as she read the title once more.

_Pureblood Matrimony: The Magic of Fate._

* * *

Short chapter. Sorry. XD

So review, please. I might just update faster with feedback.


	3. Chapter 3

**Yeah**, well, changed my mind and decided to rewrite this whole thing. Nothing big will change. Just that I reread and went "ewww. This sucks." at some parts. Especially this chapter. I think things are a little more in-character, but you tell me. I'd love any notes on improvement. Right now, I'm not confident at all about this story. Not until I finish rewriting it, at least.

Naturally, with the different ending (well, somewhat. Hermione's stronger here and doesn't break down crying, which was out of character for her.), I had to rewrite the beginning of chapter four. I have a strange feeling that I'm going to end up rewriting some parts of that, too, and then the domino follows. So I deleted all chapters (as you can see) and I'll be working on this.

Oh yeah, by the way. Ending for chapter fourteen? For those of you I haven't told yet, it was real. I'm sorry if you're disappointed. I didn't feel like working on this story much anymore...

Aha, just kidding... I thought it was funny. Didn't know how to cut it off, so I made some messed up dramatic ending. Thanks to those who actually did enjoy my (twisted) sense of humor!

Enjoy the third version of chapter three!

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Thanks to all of you who have already reviewed. XD It encouraged me to work harder on this chapter.

Disclaimer: All of my "knowledge" of plants, if not made up from my own mind, comes from _The Sorcerer's Companion_, an excellent book, which all of you should get, if you don't have it already.

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Chapter Three... again.

The pages of the book were extremely fragile, like one of those thin parchments that when you touched it, you would be afraid it would break. Hermione leafed through the book gently, skimming through it, before letting it fall to any page to start reading.

_It is written that, when man was first created, there were two types of man: there were those who could work magic, and those who couldn't. They once lived together, legend claimed, but those that lacked the ability to work magic grew jealous and left, determined to invent machinery that could think for themselves in order to conquer those who could work magic and kill them. However, as they separated, the history of those who could grow magic became myth, and wizards were non-existent in their daily life, believing that the people their ancestors associated with were made-up characters._

_However, certain occurrences would sometimes appear. Wizards and witches were created from the egg and sperm of Muggles. Thus, fate intertwined the two types of man once more, but those who had first been betrayed by Muggles never forgot it, and soon grew more distant and unwilling to accept those who had been born from them. Call it prejudice, some do, but they call it caution._

_If that is the real reason Pureblooded wizards do not accept Muggleborns into the society, we know not, but there are things that distinguish the Muggleborns from the Purebloods. Since the power of magic is no longer an option, Purebloods follow their long history of tradition to remain unique in the Wizarding society._

_One of their most peculiar traditions is the steps they force their youth to take to find their soul mate for matrimony. Men are given four maidens to choose from; those of female gender are given four suitors to pick. Each maiden or suitor is selected by fate itself, and only one will lead to the path of love, the other, destruction and living hell._

_Family lines have been ended and shamed because of wrong choices, but they still take pride in what they have done, proudly being a Pureblood even as they fail. Failing, however, is no simple matter. The selection itself is so tense and so terrifying that failing is, indeed, a more than likely option._

_According to the diary of Arthens Filch, who was the only daughter in the Pureblooded Filch line for three generations, was given the weight of the entire Filch bloodline, for her only sibling, Argus Filch, had become a Squib, thus considered to be more close to the Muggle society and disowned by the family._

_She had written,_

_"To say that I am unaware of what terrors may lie ahead, and how my family's life rests on my decision, would be completely false. I have met them, and I am afraid. Three of them will ruin me forever. The expectations my family holds upon me is such great weight upon my shoulders, that I might make the wrong move I fear to do. If I do not succeed, it is all over..."_

Hermione snapped the book shut, her eyes alight with fury. She didn't want to read any more of the ridiculous theories of the Pureblood ceremonies, of all the fear and penalties that they must go through just to be distinct from the Muggleborns. However, she couldn't help but understand why Malfoy had always thought himself superior to her--he went through so much more than she would ever have to go through.

But here she was, forced to carry on and partake in one of the most dangerous traditions. She could not deny that she was afraid as well. Should she be chosen, and as the soul mate, she did not want her children to go through such a terrifying experience. She strongly doubted that she would need to worry; to say that Malfoy was her soul mate was ridiculous.

She sighed to herself as she leaned back into the armchair. It was soft and warm, closing the space around her. The candle that floated beside her that acknowledge her light flickered every so often, but it felt peaceful here. She remembered briefly the Hogwarts library. It seemed impossible that she was in the Malfoy Manor for that one, fleeting moment--

--and she was viciously yanked back. She looked at the book in her hands and put it on the coffee table beside her, not casting it a second glance as she walked out. For the first time, she felt as though the library had disappointed her. It was terrifying. How many secrets the library held, unspoken, only written in words that waited to be read and shared. Only then, the weight would be shared, and sometimes one would wish they had never learned of the secret at all. The library was like a Muggle casino--full of treasure and risk, the penalty great.

She seated herself in the lounge, staring at her hands, thinking about all that she had learned. She had not even noticed when Ariise came in and sat across from her until she said, "You look troubled."

Hermione looked up, sincerely startled. She put a hand on her chest to calm herself down as she realized who had spoken. She grinned apologetically and said, "Is it that obvious?"

A small smile flickered on Ariise's face. "Either that, or I have a sixth sense."

"Which one is more likely?" Hermione asked, her tone light. "The latter?"

"Of course," Ariise replied, her face once more solemn. But her eyes betrayed her serious expression--Hermione thought she caught a flicker of amusement.

Hermione smiled, a chuckle escaping her. But the humor in the small exchange was soon lost as the seriosity of the matter fell upon them. "I suppose so," she said later, sighing. "I've just been in the library, and--well, it's frightening about all the Pureblood traditions. In fact, it's terrifying. Enough to turn someone's blood cold--which is maybe why Malfoy is such an arse." She shrugged, looking doubtful. "I don't know--they just seem to make everything ten times more complicated."

"It's the stubborness," Ariise admitted, looking away. "I was the only girl born in my family for generations. Everyone had always gone to Durmstrang--which, you've probably noticed, is an all-male school. They forced me to go there as well, declaring that I couldn't break their tradition. I was the only girl there, too."

Hermione smiled regretfully. "It seems rather conservative, isn't it?" she said, her tone slightly wistful.

"It is," Ariise agreed, a slight wistful tone in it, but only just. "Their pride runs deep." She did not speak for a while, and Hermione did not bother to break the silence, so Ariise left the room, leaving Hermione to consider the thoughts to herself.

She considered every aspect of it, and each reason seemed less reasonable than the previous. She recalled what was written on the old, thin pages of the book. She doubted the legend was true. After all, many legends were false.

However, the Muggle myth about the Wizarding world was true. What was the difference?

She sighed. She did not understand it, and she hated being left in the dark. It was why she had always spent hours in the library. The day had grown bleak as the sun had set and the moon rose in its place, shining distantly in the dark, casting light upon the forbidden territory.

There was no use in dwindling away time on something that she would never find reasoning to. She reluctantly went to bed, staring at the ceiling, her last thoughts wondering about what Ron and Harry were doing before she fell asleep.

The next day was nothing out of the ordinary. They went to the sitting room separately, as Liah had suggested, for she did not want to be deprived of the time she could spend with Draco by waiting for everyone else to catch up. Ariise did not mind; Hermione did not care. Delilah was not up yet.

They had assembled in the sitting room for at least ten minutes before Delilah came out, yawning loudly behind her hand. "Oh, Merlin, how I hate mornings!" she cried out. "I curse them. They wouldn't be half as bad if they started at two."

Hermione did not look up from her book as she replied, "Even then, I doubt you'll find it agreeable. Mornings will always be mornings."

"I suppose you're right there," agreed Delilah, though she had not paid the least bit of attention as to what Hermione was saying, rather busy in fawning over Draco. She seated herself as close to him as possible and said, "Draco, dear, where are we going today?"

"We aren't due for another 'adventure' until tomorrow," Draco said, reading a slip of paper that he removed from his robe pocket. "I thought we could take a tour around the garden."

"Oh, zat would be delightful!" Liah exclaimed, smiling brilliantly. "My mother always loved Herbology."

It was strange to hear such a comment coming from Liah, for both Hermione and Ariise strongly doubted that Liah had any good points in Herbology. Though a mother may be particularly fond of an event or hobby, often times the children do not share the interest. Whether or not Draco agreed with them, they did not know, but he merely responded, "Does she?" in a slightly bored tone.

And so they immediately departed, on Delilah's request, which sounded more like a command than anything. She was eager to show just how intelligent she was in identifying the uses of flowers and herbs. They had not even been out for five minutes when Delilah pointed to a plant and said, "Oh, look! Those are the leafywarts!"

Hermione sighed. "Not the leafywarts, the hepatica," she explained, somewhat irritably, "used for treating the liver."

Delilah sniffed at Hermione's correction and turned on to another plant. "My, Draco, I never thought you'd have ballerina herbs here!"

"The belladonna," Ariise corrected. "It should only be collected when Saturn is in the appropriate part of the sky. Astronomy was never one of my stronger points."

Delilah completely ignored Ariise's comment, acting as though Ariise had never spoken. "Look at those blue chicory plants! I heard it protects your crops, so long as there are no woodpeckers around."

"Actually, the blue chicory can be used in replacement of _Alohomora_ when cut with a golden blade at twelve on the twenty-fifth of June in complete silence. Should you speak a single word throughout the process, you will lose the ability to see," Hermione said in the tone of voice she often used when answering questions teachers asked back in her Hogwarts years. "And peonies are the one that protect your crops and livestock."

Delilah mumbled something that Hermione did not quite catch but caused Ariise to smile softly and Draco to smirk. Hermione merely sighed, exasperated at Delilah's futile attempts at intelligence. She vaguely felt pity for the girl, but it was not enough to stop being irritated with her. She had now finally understood why Delilah never graduated from Hogwarts.

The trip soon grew boring for Delilah, and when Delilah stopped trying to prove her excellence at her hand in Herbology, Liah started up. She knew what she was talking about, that much was certain, but it was obvious that she was not interested in herbs at all.

To Ariise and Hermione, however, it was a different story. Having lived so up north for all her life, her own garden consisted of more hardy plants and those adapted to the cold, and she was intrigued by the variety of different plants in the London area. Hermione, though, had never seen such a large garden other than the Hogwarts' one, and she was sincerely fascinated in every plant she found.

Thus said, Ariise and Hermione were separated from the rest of the group, lagging behind, discussing Herbology and collecting some sample roots. Every so often, Draco would hang back and comment on an exotic plant, briefly explaining what it was, before going ahead once more, entertaining Liah and Delilah, who clung to him so mercilessly.

"Shame," Hermione chided as she stood up from collecting an interesting looking red plant, motioning toward the two girls before them. "Have they no decency?

Ariise cast a moment's glance toward them before returning to the goldenrods. "I should think so," she said darkly, brushing her hair away from her eyes. "Only under a different definition." Hermione found that she could not respond to that, and left it as it was. It seemed to be that there were a lot of things Ariise said that held no answer.

Ariise was an interesting character. Even after conversing with her for so long, the only thing that she managed to discover about Ariise was that she was Pure-blooded and she was extremely intellectual. There was something in her air that was different than everyone else's. She joked occasionally, laughed sometimes, smiled often enough, but even so, she seemed rather distant and mysterious as ever even as she beamed.

As they headed back toward the house, Ariise said, and rather bluntly as well, to Hermione, "It's clear you have previously shared a history with Draco, but apparently, one unpleasant. What happened?"

Hermione sighed, remaing silent for a while before explaining. "He was that obnoxious jerk that thought himself superior to others because of his blood. He called me Mudblood. My friends and I called him Ferret." As Ariise questioned the reasoning behind the name of Ferret (which Hermione decided that it deserved to be capitalized), she explained in full detail--and a bit louder than need be, she would later admit--while Draco overheard, shooting a look of pure loathing over his shoulder. She smiled back sweetly.

He, in turn, gave her a sneering look and continued to converse with Liah and Delilah without enthusiasm. He sighed, vaguely tired of the flattery that Delilah and Liah were pounding him with. He at first enjoyed it for the first five minutes, but it grew old rather quickly, and they did not seem intent on changing the topic of conversation: him.

The trip wasn't _as_ successful as he had assumed. The only people who seemed to thoroughly enjoy it was Hermione and Ariise. As they entered the manor once more, Delilah said, "That was incredibly fun. We have to do it again sometime!"

He kept his groan to himself when he heard Delilah's comment and said, "It would be rather dull, wouldn't you think?" When he was met with Delilah's look of denial, he quickly continued, "I would think so."

Suddenly, with that, Delilah's pleasing face immediately dropped to one of her true nature. She clearly seemed relieved by Draco's suggestion and said, "Thank Mer--"

"Of course not," Ariise interrupted, coming in with Hermione, both with numerous samples of herbs. Their cheeks were red from the cold, but neither seemed to mind. Indeed, Hermione actually seemed pleased--a great surprise, considering that she _was,_ after all, on Malfoy grounds. "We haven't even covered a quarter of the yard yet. It would be delightful to view all the grounds."

At this comment, Delilah shot Ariise a cold glare, clearly stating that she wished never again to embark on such a bothersome journey. "_I_ found it boring," she said meaningfully, exaggerating her words.

"Mmm, you might," Hermione mused, distracted, "but then again, you confused blue chicories and peonies--something taught in second year." She paused, unaware of the harsh stare that Delilah was offering her, sorting through the roots. "Malfoy, can we use some of your cauldrons?"

Draco turned, surprised at suddenly being brought into the conversation, having already started to head back alone. And by _Hermione_, of all people! "Err, what?" he said, startled.

"Cauldrons," Ariise supplied, removing her winter cloak. "To brew a potion with these samples."

"Oh," Draco said blankly. "Err, down the corridor, the second right, down the stairway... There should be a room on the left. Just... don't go into the first room."

With that, Hermione gathered the samples once more, rushing down with his directions without a mutter of thanks. And frankly, Draco neither noticed nor minded.

A few hours later, Ariise and Hermione came back up again, with several vials with brightly colored potions and thick, dull potions in hand. Hermione put them away in her room before heading off to the library, only to be disrupted one hour later by a scream that resounded and echoed off the walls.

Immensely worried, Hermione followed the sound and found Delilah standing in her room. She was covered with welts and warts. "What are you doing in my room?" Hermione said angrily, her voice raised. Not long after, Ariise, Liah, and Draco came as well. Liah appeared worried for Delilah, who, though they did nothing but bicker, shared the same tastes as her and was her friend. Ariise began to chuckle, but Draco contained it all except for an amused sparkle in his eyes.

"Why wouldn't I be in your room? It's not like it belongs to you or anything," Delilah said crossly. Hermione was about to point out that, indeed, it temporarily _did_ belong to her and it was an invasion of privacy, but Delilah cut her short by saying, "And why do you have such dangerous substances in your room?"

"Is it my fault that you drank the Welting Potion?" Hermione said furiously.

"Yes, it is your fault!" Delilah screamed, tears streaming down her cheeks. "It's all your fault! I'm ugly now, Merlin, look at me!"

"We're looking at you, and we're laughing," Ariise admitted, unable to keep the smile off her face. Draco smirked at her comment.

Delilah let out a shrill scream once more, shooting Ariise a death glare. It did not intimidate her, however, as Ariise's grin did not falter. Hermione stated angrily, "What were you doing going through my items, anyways? Are you so thick that you would drink a potion without knowing what it was?"

"It's your fault you didn't label them," Delilah said crossly, "and it looked pretty, so I drank it. How was I supposed to know that it wasn't a beauty potion? You should've said it was a Welting Potion instead! See? It's _all your fault!_"

"My fault I didn't label them? What happened to your common sense?" Hermione said angrily. "You don't just drink an unidentified potion without hesitation! You should've learned from your third year from Professor Snape about the Welting Potion--you should've been able to tell that it _was_ a Welting Potion by its pink color and the swirls of red that never stays still."

"Well excuse me, if I'm not an insufferable know-it-all!" Delilah snapped. Hermione's face paled immediately.

It was naturally to be expected that, after years of having been called an "insufferable know-it-all," she would have developed some sort of immunity to the insult, as should have been the term "Mudblood." But it always had hurt, no matter how many times she told herself that she was used to it. Since childhood, she was never very social and managed to hide away her loneliness through her books.

After the war and having been known to be behind the foundation of numerous secret defense schools across the Wizarding world, she was certain that she had redeemed herself from her quiet life. But to have one of the personality faults that she hated brought up and taunted before her--after all she'd tried to do to rid herself of the title--was a little too much.

"At least I have common sense!" Hermione all but yelled, her voice cracking toward the end.

At this, Delilah scoffed, as if truly offended. Her eyes widened and her face was etched with horror. "Common sense!" she shouted back. "Common sense would be to label potions--"

"--Common sense would be to avoid unknown substances!" Hermione interrupted loudly. "You shouldn't be in my room in the first place!"

"Why can't I be in your room and go through your stuff? Is it illegal? It's not like anyone cares about you, anyways. I have all the right to go through your things," Delilah said, as if her answer satisfied and explained the whole situation--which, indeed, it did not. But she was so narrow-minded that she saw her way and her way only as the one correct.

"Do I ever go through your items?" Hermione shot back.

"No," Delilah said shortly. "And you wouldn't, either," she continued when Hermione opened her mouth to speak. "That's just plain rude!"

At this, Hermione was left agape as she stared in Delilah in horror and shock. Was there such a person like this in the world? When sense came back to her, it took all her self-control--and a little bit more--to keep her voice to a calm. "And if I can't go through your things," she said, her voice quivering in fury, her fist clenching, "why can you go through mine?"

"Because," she said, as if it were sufficient enough to answer Hermione's question. She then crossed her arms, satisfied.

"Because what?" Hermione prompted, rage seeping through her voice.

"Because because," she said childishly. "I don't have to listen to _you_, anyways. After all, you _are_ insignificant."

Hermione's eyes narrowed in anger. Were these the words of a drop-out to a valedictorian? "Excuse me?" she said, appalled. "_Insignificant_?"

"Mm-hmm," Delilah said, thoroughly believing her own words. She shifted her weight onto her other foot as she said, "You're just jealous of my superior looks _and_" --at this, she rose her voice when Hermione opened her mouth to speak-- "you made me drink a... a Whatsit Potion to destroy my beautiful skin!"

At this, Hermione positively blanched before thrashing her way to sheer fury. "_I_ made _you_ drink a Welting Potion out of _jealousy_?" she roared, suppressing the extreme urge to engage into a duel. "Who trespassed into my room to start with?"

"I did nothing of the sort, with _trespassing_," Delilah shot back coldly. "I merely entered and you tricked me into drinking it!"

"I tricked you?" Hermione repeated in shock, her voice quivering with anger. Suddenly, she slammed her fist down on the nearby dresser, making the items rattle. Delilah jumped but quickly regained composure. "I don't believe this."

"_I_ can't believe that you would do something like _this_ to my face!" Delilah said, gesturing to here newly welted skin.

Hermione let out a shaky breath and a gold glint caught her eye. Frowning, she looked closer, and found a familiar necklace tied around Delilah's neck. All the anger that she'd managed to push down low suddenly unleashed, but she did not fly out; rather, she advanced, her brown eyes growing overcast with a steely glare that Delilah recoiled. With a whisk, she removed her wand and said, "What is that?"

"What's what?" Delilah said, trying to appear confident, but her voice revealed her anxiety.

"That--that necklace," Hermione specified, her voice no less cold. The air seemed to chill down as every moment of silence grew more deadly.

Delilah reached for the necklace and tightened her grip protectively around it. "That's mine," she said defiantly.

"And where did you get it?" Hermione asked, her eyes forcing the truth out of Delilah, who was now shaking somewhat.

She bit her lip before replying, "On your dresser."

For a moment, it seemed to the room that Hermione was about to cast the worst of the Unforgivables on Delilah, and it seemed that way to the redheaded girl as well. But she didn't, and merely reached out an open palm and said, "Give it back."

The fear that shook through the younger girl's body suddenly vanished and was overcome with anger. "No," Delilah snapped, turning away from Hermione. "I found it, and it's mine now. Besides," she continued, not seeing the dangerous aura that surrounded Hermione, "this is in exchange for ruining my perfect complexion."

"You say I ruined your _perfect_ complexion?" Hermione said, a cruel smirk crossing her lips that seemed rather out of character. Delilah swallowed nervously and nodded. Suddenly, Hermione spun around and said, "Well, then, Malfoy, what do you say? Was Delilah ever pretty at all?"

Draco, startled at being pulled into such a dangerous conversation, looked awkwardly between the two. From past experiences, he knew not to interfere with Hermione when she was in such a state--but what if Delilah was his soul mate? He shuddered at the thought, but it was possible. Much more possible than Granger, to say the least.

"_Perfect_ is overrated," he said, hoping his somewhat neutral answer would satisfy. He was already feeling the intensity of the debate, despite the fact that he was only involved for naught but a few seconds, and was starting to get uncomfortable under their gaze.

"In other words," Hermione said, gliding over Draco's words, "you were an ugly, annoying little pest that couldn't be swatted." Draco blanched at this description. It was true that Delilah _was_ an annoying buzzing fly that just wouldn't go away, but she wasn't _ugly_. Not beautiful, but above average, to say the least.

"_I_ thought he said something entirely different," Delilah said, patting her foot impatiently. She seemed to be about to turn to Draco for a definition but fell quiet when she was met with Hermione's wand at her throat.

"Give that back," Hermione said. When Delilah didn't move, Hermione pressed her wand down further against her soft skin--that was now covered in warts--so that Delilah started to choke. "That was a gift from my grandmother before she died. _Give it back!_" The coldness in her eyes lifted into fiery rage when Delilah finally found the sense to remove the chain from her neck and return it to her.

Yet Hermione's anger did not falter when she received the necklace, feeling the fragile metal in her palm, and once more turned to icy steel. "You're so damn lucky I swore never to use the _Avada Kedavra_ after my first kill in the war," Hermione said coldly. "So damn lucky. And had I known I'd be saving people like _you_, I would have thought twice about risking my life."

With that, she turned on her heel and slammed the door closed, heading toward her library, disregarding the fact that she had just been turned out of her own room. But in her cold rage, she could not think properly, and could only do the irrational, leaving the others in awe of her power.

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Ahh! I love Delilah's reasoning. It is hilarious. I found myself laughing at it. Of course, it's supposed to be aggrivating... but it's just so funny! Teeheee... can't ever write aggrivating scenes. (Can't spell it, either.) Oh well.

Did you like it? Rate it! And tell me what you think about the arguement. This is my first written arguement based on unreasonable logic. XD

So please review! Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**To clear up some misunderstandings**:

Several people have asked if Hermione's lineage is still Muggle-born. The answer is, _yes_. In my original version of Vital Choices, I gave out the background family line of each Maiden, which I later deleted, due to possible prejudice's on Draco's behalf. So here are the blood lines:

Liah: Pure blood

Ariise: Pure blood

Hermione: Muggleborn

Delilah: Half-blood

Pureblood marriages in this story are preferred by the families, but cannot be argued with fate. So that's a bit of AU here--can't help it with a story like this.

And, for all those predicting who's got what role:

**Things may not be as they appear.** Meaning, all three other maidens HAVE a past that's to be revealed and will alter some ideas. And since this story mainly takes place in Hermione's POV, all predictions involved in the story will be just that--**predictions**. Just ideas, not fact.

And thanks to cat-alike69, crzyflgrl, Gtsweetie4, Nocturnal007, Belle Princess169, Terra Draconis, BA De Danone, Arwen12323, NorgePrincess Alexandra Noel, Harmonic Melody, Dom-Basher CHAMPION, little wolf blossom, Kat, Hotkat144, dabecsta06, lll, cheeky splash, lazer-angel, tankbbg, not important, dramionerox, hey, mudblood1704, Siiles, Eternally Night, My3scape, Amiastine, Mooncheese, WinnieThaPoo92, Markitdownb4itsstruck, tefy, KenLuverDH, flamarae, xPrincessxSunshinex, Angelfire511, carly, cherryfaerie, Lalia x, grace, RandomObsessivePsychoFangirl, Spazy Sange, OrgnlAmagic, Whim, - now known as all smiles, Marionette, Serenity Kmoshiro, and BadLuckVixen13 for reviewing! It's nice to know that the new version was better! Enjoy the chapter!

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Chapter Four

_Running,_

_Footsteps beating_

_Against the pavement_

_Blood thumping_

_Reverberating_

_In my ears._

_Escaping blindly,_

_Falling away._

_Wash away my spilled tears_

_Of pain._

Hermione slammed the library door behind her, shaking in fear of her wrath. Her fist, clenched tight, left fingernail marks in her palm, now red with pain. Her eyes narrowed and the fire within her never--nor did it seem that it _would_, by any chance--settle. Her mind was wheeling with never-ending thoughts, accusations, and claims of fury. How could she? Never in her life did she believe such an unreasonable and _illogical_ person could ever exist. Never in her life did she _meet_ someone like so.

Not even Malfoy.

Not even the worst of Hogwarts. When compared with Lavendar and Parvati, the two Gryffindor gossips suddenly seemed intellectual and studious--which was definitely saying something. No doubt the three of them would have gotten along wonderfully, but Hermione was quite certain that even Brown and Patil would have tired of Delilah at some point.

It took all her remaining self-control--something she used to pride herself in--to restrain herself from blaspheming the foulest words that she was aware of. With a strangled cry, she picked up the closest object--a fragile-looking silver candle holder, for she would never throw a book--as far as she could. She did not bother to watch it collide, merely hearing the crash loudly echoing in the walls of the library.

The library door opened. Hermione didn't turn to see who it was, for she did not care at that particular moment. Neither did she turn when the door closed again and footsteps advanced in her direction. She braced herself for an attack but managed to remain calm on the exterior--and the attack, somehow, never came.

Rather, words came in place of physical contact. It did not stop her from being tense, however, as she listened. The voice was familiar. Who did it belong to?

"Have you managed to rationalize with yourself and find another form of revenge other than a bloody mess?" Ariise said, a bit of a smile in her voice.

Hermione exhaled a long breath, shaking her head from side to side. "I don't know," she finally admitted. She then squeezed her eyes closed tight in frustration, saying, "I just can't _believe_ her! Where is her logic? Where is her common sense?"

Ariise only shrugged, but, with Hermione's back turned, she replied evenly, "I'm sure she has it, somewhere. Likely that she isn't intelligent enough to realize where and what it is."

"Only too probable," Hermione said grudgingly as she turned to face the _only_ other person in the area with any sort of reasoning. And for this, Hermione was thankful. "If I could, I would leave. It is an _insult_ to even be within a hundred meters with such a vile creature!" she proclaimed, her eyes flashing with fury once more.

Ariise did not share Hermione's temper, nor her rage. She shared only understanding as she looked on calmly, her eyes serene. "Perhaps it is," she agreed, "but it is your choice to decide how to live the remainder of your stay. Strain yourself with hate--or move on with life."

Hermione's scowl deepened as her eyes hardened into a glare, focused at Ariise. "You want me to forgive and forget," she snarled.

Indeed, Ariise actually seemed surprised at the idea and shook her head. "Merlin, no," she said. "You should never forget, merely move on. It is one thing to be too aware, and one thing to be naive. Neither one is good."

"Move on?" Hermione said, her anger starting again. "You want me to ignore her insolence with nothing more than--than a _slight grudge_, perhaps?" Her nostrils flared in her fury. "Is it supposed to be my role entirely? Because I can tell you, _she_ will not--_will not_ cooperate!"

To this, Ariise only nodded. It seemed that nothing quite angered her and nothing saddened her. It seemed that she lived in her own world and was looking onto the real one like one would to a movie, understanding in depth but never participating. "You're not doing this for her," Ariise told Hermione. "You're doing this for yourself."

Hermione, who had opened her mouth to protest, suddenly stopped and faltered at this. Her look of anger clouded into one of confusion, her brow furrowed in question. "I wh--what?" she said, startled, having not expected that response.

"You're doing this for yourself," Ariise repeated firmly, her eyes unchanging. "It will make a world's difference to you, whether to wallow in hate and self-pity or to move on and accept. Unleash punishment next time this should happen--a Bat-Bogey Hex, or a Jelly-Legs Jinx." At this, Hermione sobered immediately and her expression saddened, recalling the excellent Bat-Bogey Hex of Ginny's. Suddenly, she felt another pang of homesickness hit her in the stomach, causing her to nearly double-over. "Do not let another's faults bother you."

When Hermione did not respond, Ariise nodded curtly and turned, leaving Hermione alone. She felt weak in the knees and held onto the bookshelf for support, but soon found herself sliding down, sitting on the floor.

_Home_.

Something she'd managed not to think about the past week, and, while she'd hoped that the homesickness had subsided, it still hurt like hell.

She felt like a child being kept away from her mother for a night, wanting to cry and collapse on the inside. But she couldn't. She _had_ to remain composed.

Harry and Ron--her two best friends. Then there were the entire Weasley family--save Percy, but she hardly thought of him as a Weasley anymore--who had always supported her. Here? There was no one. Perhaps there was Ariise, but they stood on two completely different platforms, two separate universes, that were linked together only by a fragile string: the Pureblood tradition. She could not understand Ariise, but at least there was _someone_ to stop her from going crazy.

But being admitted to St. Mungo's would mean that she could stay away from the Malfoy Manor, which was a great evil in her mind. Ron and Harry could visit her there. Here, she had been unable to write--

Her mind suddenly stopped. _Write_. The word echoed in her mind. Why hadn't she thought of it earlier? Was she or was she not deemed as the smartest witch of the century? She cursed inwardly and scolded herself for not being reminded of Owling her friends sooner.

Quickly, she slammed open the door to her room, relieved to find that the crowd had parted and no one was left. She was alone, like she should be. After throwing open a desk drawer, she rummaged through it, grabbing spare pieces of parchment and slapping it onto the desk.

She dipped her quill into the inkwell and hastily scribbled across the top of the parchment in her neat cursive handwriting--or what should have been neat, had she not been in such a hurry. After she was finished with the address, though, she faltered as her quill touched the parchment. How would she explain her situation?

Biting her lip, she closed her eyes tightly and tried to word her thoughts in something that would not cause Ron to overreact. When she found nothing, she sighed and gave up, starting to write.

_Dear Ron and Harry,_

_It's me, Hermione. I'm sure that you've been wondering where I've been, disappearing from my flat like that. I have been wondering, too. I'm sure that sounds strange, but this whole thing his strange, really--and not funny at all. I'm not sure if you, Ron, know about this, because you're Pureblooded and all, but you're also separated from those blood-prejudiced families._

_Apparently, it's one of those crazy Pureblooded traditions with absurd origins, this particular one involving, well... marriage. Please, Harry, if you're reading this too, tell Ron to restrain himself before he does anything too drastic._

_In brief summary, all Purebloods supposedly must go through an ordeal where four "Maidens," so call it, are chosen. One of them is to kill him, another to betray him, the third to steal his fortune, and the fourth would be the actual soul mate. There are these adventures I am forced to be involved in, and rather dangerous, too. From what I've understood, some family lines have ended because of this infuriating event._

_There are three other Maidens here: Liah, of Beauxbatons, Delilah, Hogwarts drop-out, and Ariise, from Durmstrag (who, as she told me, was forced to attend the school because of her family)._

Here, Hermione's quill stopped as she reflected on their earlier conversation--yesterday, was it?--where Ariise admitted that her family had forced her to attend Durmstrag, being the first girl in the family for ages. Then, she was angry and did not think properly. It seemed that she was angry a lot lately.

But fact asides, had she not had a mother? And a grandmother? Hermione's frown deepened. Surely she was _not_ the first woman in the family! It was scientifically impossible--did her whole family go to Durmstrag, or had her mother, and the mother before her mother, gone to a separate school?

The ideas were puzzling. She tried to logic it all out, but it clashed with Ariise's explanation. She sighed, shaking her head. Perhaps there was a misunderstanding. Deciding that was it, she pushed the thought away and continued her letter.

_Liah and Delilah are complete gossips. Delilah is particularly dim-witted, and that's coating with sugar. Only today did she drink an unidentified potion I had made with Ariise in my room (call that barging in, trespassing, invading), resulting in numerous warts across her body, then blaming it on me. Naturally, I was tempted to cast an Unforgivable, but you will be proud to know, Harry, I held the incantation within myself._

_Ariise is rather mysterious but very intelligent. I'm not quite sure what to make of her yet._

_But the days here--however maddening, exasperating... horrifying?--have never been insipid._

_I suppose now you're wondering who the Pureblood who had doomed us all to this fate is. Please, Ron, and Harry, actually--or anyone else who is reading, for that matter--I beg of you, do not look down on me. It is not by choice, it is by force._

_He isn't quite as bad lately, actually. He isn't strutting quite as much as he did before, with the war and all. But he's still quite annoying. I'm sure you're aware of who I'm referring to?_

_If you say Parkinson, Ron, I will personally throttle you._

_The answer? Well, a particular ferret of our shamed acquaintance._

_As you probably already know, this is no pleasant stay. I've--naturally--avoided him and I spend most of my time in the library, but there's no one to relax around. After all--one of us is a murderer. Who to trust?_

_I believe, if I were chosen (which is a very small chance), I would be the traitor. But, after all, it is Malfoy. What to expect?_

_I'm not sure how often I can communicate to those outside of the Manor, but I'll try my best. And please don't do anything rash. Have Ginny restrict you two._

_I suppose that's all, then._

_With great regrets,_

_Hermione_

She looked at her weak ending. She didn't know how to end a letter like that. It left the information hanging at an awkward angle and she winced as she briefly imagined Ron and Harry's expression when they would read her letter. Sighing, she shook her head, putting her quill down, staring at the letter.

If she had expected it to fix itself or give her an idea of how to correctly end it, she was sorely disappointed. It did nothing but return her stare, confident and still. Tutting under her breath, Hermione folded the letter and placed it into a spare envelope, writing her two best friends' names on it. After all, a weak letter was better than nothing at all... wasn't it?

Deciding not to think about it any further, she took the letter and slipped it into her pocket. She strode out the room, closing her door behind her. Only when she left the Maiden's wing and looked around the manor did she notice all the swirling staircases and the great, bold one in the middle. It made her head hurt.

_Of course_, she muttered to herself. There was, without a doubt, a huge number of rooms in the manor. And amongst all them, _one_ would be the library. She sighed, seating herself on one of the large couches. What was she supposed to do--poke through all the rooms?

"Granger," came a curt voice from behind her.

She whipped around, her eyes narrowing automatically. After the day's events, she was ready to jump at anyone. Upon seeing Malfoy, she did not loosen and said stiffly, "What do you want?"

He looked mildly amused by her question. "I want many things," he said in reply, "but I can assure you that you cannot give me all that."

Hermione sighed, irritated. "You know what I mean," she said crossly. When Draco gave no sign of relenting, she folded her arms and said in false sweetness, "Let me reword myself: What do you want with _me_?"

"Absolutely nothing," he replied easily, his eyes sparkling with a certain coldness.

Hermione frowned at his response. _Might as well ask him for an owl_, she thought, tutting, despite the fact that she hated--absolutely detested--asking help from an enemy, but there was nothing she could do. She fumbled with her words, causing her to recieve a strange look from Malfoy. Noticing this, she narrowed her eyes and finally bit out, "Do you have an owl I can use?"

"Do I have an owl?" he repeated, not at all suspecting that particular question. He frowned. "Yes, I do." When Hermione opened her mouth once again, he cut her off, continuing, "That you can use? No, I'm afraid I don't."

Hermione pursed her lips, tapping her foot impatiently, waiting for an explanation. When she received none--and not only that, but when Malfoy even had the audacity to turn away from her--she grabbed him by the sleeve, stopping him from departing. "Well?" she said, now thoroughly annoyed. "Why can't I?"

"Maidens during the time of the ceremony cannot have any outside contact," he said easily, as if reciting a textbook, sounding rather like Hermione when she responded to questions in their school days--only with a more of a lazy tone and a drawl to it. "Take, for instance, if you were to kill me, I would not wish that you contact those outside forces for help."

Hermione's eyes narrowed in anger. To force her here against her will was one thing--one thing she was rather furious about--but to strip away all means of outside communication? "Well, _I_--" Hermione said, starting in her retort, but was quickly cut off.

"If you wish to tell Potty and Weasel that everything's well and fine, there's no need," he said swiftly, not even bothering to glance at her as he walked away. "A note has been left at your house. No doubt they'd be pleased."

Hermione slipped her hand into the pocket containing her letter and crushed it within her fist, trying to restrain herself. Starting after him, she said, "You're telling me that I am locked in a prison with no means of escape, no means of relaxation, and constant life-threatening situations."

At this metaphor, Draco stopped, sighing, and turned around. "Think that if you must," he said, a tone of exasperation in his voice, "but without those life-threatening situations, it would be rather bland, wouldn't it? I seem to recall that you eagerly tagged along with those two during the war."

Hermione wrinkled her nose and knitted her brows. "Well, that's because I didn't have to go through all of it with _you_, and _for_ you."

Draco merely smirked in response before turning away and walked toward his room, ignoring Hermione's following shouts of protests and anger. If anything, they merely made him even more amused and as for Hermione, aggravated.

"Don't you _dare_ walk away, Malfoy! Are you not listening to me? Out of all the disrespect--!" And on she continued, cross, going so far as to even stomping her foot, which, of course, had no effect at all. She was left alone and resorted to slamming into her own room after a very frustrating day.

Screaming into her pillow to vent off some of that frustration, Hermione rolled over in bed, clutching at the thick blankets. When she had let out all her agony, she was not left with very much energy and fell into a quiet sleep.

--------------------------

The next day, Hermione woke up feeling bitter and sore. It wasn't something she was exactly used to; normally, she either woke up feeling tired or completely refreshed and ready to start the day.

She wasn't cranky, at least, in the sense that Delilah was cranky in the mornings. She was simply bitter.

And, because of her bitterness, she procrastinated getting out of bed. When she finally did, she had even exceeded Delilah's slow rate of the morning rise and was the last one to assemble in the sitting room, where Liah was kind enough to shove to her face.

"I have zought zat you would stay in bed all day," she said in her superior tone as she always did. "All day and sulk."

Hermione sneered at the beautiful French girl, instantly irritated. She was the first to irritate Hermione that day, who had already started in a bad mood. Naturally, she would be on Hermione's bad side for the remainder of the day. "And you were proven wrong," Hermione shot nastily. "Just as I have thought that you _and_ Delilah would have found a brain today and proven wrong."

To this, Liah only sniffed and stuck up her nose, refusing to be insulted any further. And Hermione, being the logical person she was, didn't bother forcing an argument out of her as Ron would have.

This was followed by an awkward silence in which the tension between Hermione and Liah was great. Though neither even cast a glance at each other, their earlier verbal exchange were fresh in everyone's minds, and no one dared to break it.

Finally deciding that he had had enough of it, Draco stood up and said, "Let's go."

At first, his meaning was unclear, but when he walked toward the glass cage that contained the silver Portkey, the others understood and followed. As did Hermione, who followed suit however reluctantly.

They placed their hands on the cool metal and found the world around them whirling once again before it slowed to a stop and the colors settled to one collective scenery: tall, metal buildings that stretched to the sky with loud noises and horns honking. Numerous pedestrians dressed in various sorts of Muggle clothing walked by as some waited by a large pole that held a sign reading "BUS STOP."

The smell was awkward and full of gasoline. People pushed past each other to try and get to their destination on time. The aroma of freshly baked goods rose from one of the stores from across the street--one store of many. Music was blaring from a part of a sidewalk not too far from them, coming from a band full of fresh young people with a hat laid out for money.

"Merlin, what is zis place?" Liah said, wrinkling her nose in disgust as she smelled the gasoline that came from the cars. "Zis smell, and zis noise!"

"Well, let us apologize that the world doesn't always fit to your needs," Hermione said sarcastically as she leaned casually against one of the lamp posts. And what unnerved her the most was not the city, for she was plenty used to it, but that Liah had actually seemed to think Hermione's words to be true and well-deserved.

"It's--it's a Muggle city," Draco said, frowning as he looked at the pedestrians, staring at their clothing in distaste. They returned his strange stare, looking at Draco as though he were insane.

"Oh, does the great Pureblooded Draco Malfoy actually recognize something that isn't a part of the magical world?" Hermione said with false sweetness. "How delightful! It seems as though I'm proven wrong twice today already!" Quickly, she dropped the facade and turned on her heel away from them, leaving them to themselves to look for the Portkey.

She'd do it by herself.

After a while of strolling around, the anger was released and she felt much more comfortable, being by herself--without any aggravating and senseless companions--in a familiar place: somewhere Muggle. She felt normal again and allowed herself to enjoy her time there. Exiting a creamery, Hermione held a strawberry ice cream cone in hand, licking it as she peered through the windows, window-shopping rather than searching for the Portkey.

When she found one store with interesting books inside it, a smile lifted the corners of her lips. Glancing up, she found the words "_Mary's Antique Shop_" printed across the top.

Swinging the door open, the bell chimed and Hermione looked inside. There weren't many people, but she liked it like this. It was quiet.

Walking along the aisles and finishing her ice cream, she found the books that had caught her attention from outside the store window. The leather cover was old and the words printed on it could not be made out, and the pages were fragile and thin, ready to be broken at any moment. Slowly, Hermione looked through the book.

It was in Latin.

Of course.

Hermione smiled as she ran a finger along the foreign words, her lips moving as she mentally translated it to herself in English. Having no use for the Latin language for quite a while, her Latin was rusty and she often found herself stumped every few words.

As she set the book down, a glittering object caught her eye. Even in the dim light, it shined and sparkled as anything. Coming closer, she discovered it to be the Portkey, and instantly she felt a groan coming out of her.

The Portkey would mean returning to the Malfoy Manor, the last place that she wanted to be at the moment.

Quietly, she slipped the Portkey into her sleeve and picked up the book again, trying to distract herself from the magical part of her life. But it was no use; she was reminded of Liah, the insufferable witch she was.

"May I help you?" a surly voice said.

Hermione jumped and looked around, spotting an old lady with wrinkled, pale skin frowning at her, squinting to see better. Hermione offered an attentive smile and said, "No, no, I'm fine."

She knew it was the wrong thing to say when the old lady suddenly deepend her frown and stretched herself to her full height--still several centimeters short of Hermione. "I have seen you steal something."

"Wh--what?" Hermione said, startled. Surely that woman wasn't there when she had found the Portkey!

The woman nodded, holding an outstretched hand. "My little Silver. Hand it over to me."

Hermione caught sight of the blade that the woman held in her other hand. _You must not do magic in front of Muggles_, Hermione thought, reminding herself of the rule. Granted, it was a fake world, but she would much rather not test its limits. Slowly, she removed the Portkey from her sleeve and cautiously placed it into the woman's weathered hand.

The fingers instantly closed around it and she smiled wickedly. "You are a very good girl," she said to Hermione, her crooked teeth showing through her twisted smile. "And for that, I shall reward you."

Before Hermione could react, the blade was out and about to stab her heart. Hastily, Hermione tried to defend herself with her arm.

She felt nothing, only shocked as she saw the blade sticking out from her arm.

Then she felt a wave of undefined pain rush through her as the blood trickled out of her wound. Her mind grew light and dizzy as she collapsed to the floor, rolling, her fist clenched in agony. The searing pain raced up and down her arm as though it were on fire; it was unbearable.

She was grateful for the black.

---------------------

Wheeeeeeeeeee! Finished this chapter. What do you think? Please review. XD All reviews are greatly appreciated.


	5. Chapter 5

**Remember that things are not as they appear!**

Thanks a ton to Zagreb-girl, m0v1aNg3l, Riley Blac, Gtsweetie4, tankbbg, Sunflower 18, dramionerox, BA de Danone, lazer-angel, Hotkat144, HGDM lova, NorgePrincess Alexandra Noel, Redlightspin, pinkicing101, and Daniel Radcliffe Loves Me for reviewing! XD

Hope you guys enjoy this next chapter! R&R

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Chapter Five

Hermione's eyes flickered open and everything was a daze. The world around her seemed to be in a blur and she could not make out shapes, only colors. Squinting did not help, either. The only choice was to let her eyes rest for a little more.

But then came the voices, calling to her. The came faint at first, but then they grew louder and louder. Suddenly, she felt pain flood through her arm once more, but perhaps not as bad as it had been moments earlier.

She moaned out a little, though she knew very well it would not ease the pain any. The whispers grew a little more excited around her and she felt something shoot up and down her arm; it stunned her a little bit. She flickered her eyes open for the second time and looked around. The daze finally settled down somewhat and she made out shapes, finally. There were four looming figures, hovering over her. She assumed that she was on the floor.

"And she awakes," Liah said, scoffing, as she examined a beautifully carved knife that she had lifted from its place on the shelf, not seeming to mind Hermione's injury at all. Setting it down, she shook her head, saying, "What a horrible blade. Not even sharp." Draco's eyes flickered upon Liah before resting on the blade, as did Delilah's. It was another attempt to flaunt her superior intelligence, Hermione understood.

Ariise sniffed slightly. "It is a pity that you are not in her place," she said, the only one who had not directed their attention toward Liah, as she tried another healing spell, offering a weak smile to Hermione. "I apologize; healing was never my best subject."

Hermione tried to hoist herself up with her good arm, but Ariise pushed her back down. "You need rest," she stated, her eyes flickering over to the injured arm. "What had happened?"

Of course she would inquire to know. Hermione would herself, had someone else been in the situation. "I--I found the Portkey," she said, taking strength to use her vocal chords. "An old woman wouldn't let me see it, and--and she struck."

After she had bitten out the words, her eyes closed again, wincing in another wave of searing pain. "Well, the Portkey's here," Ariise said, gesturing to the object beside them. "It was left behind; I suppose the old woman didn't make it out very far. Curious."

"I still say that we should have left while she was unconscious," a dark voice muttered. Hermione turned toward it, only then realizing Draco Malfoy's existence. She automatically gritted her teeth and narrowed her eyes in hate.

"I still say that your mother should have called for abortion while expecting you," Hermione shot back with distaste, despite her lack of energy. The blond's lips tightened slightly.

"And I say," Liah's shrill voice interrupting, "zat since she has recovered somewhat, we should be returning!" She moved from her position and toward the Portkey, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

Ariise looked reluctant. "She will receive better treatment," she agreed finally, offering Hermione a hand up. Hermione thankfully accepted it.

Moments later, the world of the Muggle disappeared in swirling colors of magic.

--------------------------

It was what was predicted. Ariise had led Hermione to the library, looking for a book on healing, as the House-Elf of so long ago, Dobby, had been accidentally dismissed. Both Liah and Delilah started their usual bicker before slamming the doors of their bedrooms shut, refusing to speak to each other. What their topic was, Hermione had absolutely no interest in. She assumed it was another materialistic idea.

Draco, on the other hand, went to his own room on the other side of the manor, closing the door and collapsing on the bed, running a hand through his hair. He sighed. He hadn't been expecting an attack so early.

_One of them will kill you, should you choose to marry her._

The words floated through Draco's mind quite suddenly and unexpectedly that it startled himself as his tired eyes opened wide in horror. His first thought was of Hermione, that she had struck herself to be put in the limelight. However, the idea was quickly rid of. It was not in her character to do so; besides, she loathed him, and would consider spending an eternity with him a curse, as did he with her.

His mind swarmed with ideas of who it could be. Ariise with an unspoken duty in healing Hermione, to cover up for her attempted murder, then being the one to find the Portkey upon the floor? Delilah, who had been surprisingly silent throughout the whole charade--or did she know who it was who struck? Or Liah, with a peculiar interest in the blade before giving her own critique of it?

Draco shook his head, pushing the thoughts aside. _No_, he thought. _It's not one of them--it's the Portkey. After all..._

Sighing, Draco rolled over in his bed, looking at the flickering candlelight with a candlestick enchanted as never to run out of wax. Swiftly, he blew the flame out and let himself rest in ignorant sleep.

--------------------------

The following day, a note was found in each of the maiden's bedrooms, that there would be no adventure that day, to give rest for the active one of the previous day.

Hermione seized this free morning with excitement. She longed to stretch and relax in the library with a book in hand; at least he had not stripped her of her love of books as well. Freedom lost, friends lost, and her sanity being endangered. Top it off with a great enemy in close proximity. Hermione's lips tightened at the idea and she slammed into the library.

Fuming, she grabbed a random book and walked toward her normal seat by the window. However, she halted her steps when one particular book caught her eye. It had leather binding and seemed to be hand-made with fragile gold lettering. Setting her own book aside, she opted for this new intriguing one--one that seemed to hold a dangerous aura to.

Casting a glance over her shoulder to ensure privacy, Hermione gingerly reached up and stroked the binding, hesitant to remove it from its place on the shelf. She felt the danger in reading it, as though she was not allowed to. But in that manner, it gave her a certain thrill that she hadn't experienced in quite a while, and despite her intuition telling her to leave the book untouched, she could not help but remove it from the shelf.

Hurriedly, so that she would not regret her decision, she walked over to her own private corner and took a good glance at the title, which alone gave her quite a fright.

_History of the Malfoy Line_.

Quickly, she placed the book down, feeling her heart hammering within her chest. Was she quite sure that she wanted to read it? She knew that she would likely cross some bizarre and frightening, as well as unexpected, information within the book. She was quite content with her current status and hate of the Malfoy line--did she want to take that hate to a new degree, or go through the traumatizing experiencing of seeing Malfoy in a new light?

She doubted herself. Standing up, she paced around the library, contemplating whether or not she should read the book. Finally, before she realized it, her curiosity took over her actions and she found herself rushing over to her seat and lifting the book from the residing table by the chair and let the book fall open to the first page.

_The Malfoy name has lasted for centuries that it is difficult to find who the first Malfoy was, indeed. They were one of the first wizards to roam the Earth, and, as the legend tells, they befriended and helped Muggles. When the Muggles grew jealous and became greedy, the wizards departed from them, closing themselves from the world. The Malfoy family, as many others, has been cautious of Muggles and Muggle-borns ever since._

_Luckily for all wizards, the Muggles soon believed that magic was completely false--for then, the Memory Charm had not yet been discovered. However, as the story was told from generation to generation, the story grew twisted--as all stories do, for they did not write it down but rather trusted the word of mouth and memory, forming a realm to them of wonder, escape, and in certain situations, horror and fear._

_Thus said, Pure-blooded children were taught from youth not to trust Muggles, or anything that had to do with them. This mistrust grew to hate as the years passed, and, as all Pure-blooded families, the Malfoys became more distant and crueler and thought themselves better as the years passed on._

It was a mere introduction, but had captured her acute attention more than ever. It was written with such power and belief in a particular unbiased way that made one _form_ a biased opinion.

Scanning quickly through the rest of the page, Hermione turned it over and glanced at the passing pages. There were numerous--hundreds and hundreds worth of--names all bearing the surname of Malfoy. And each one seemed to hold a strange but captivating tale. Then one name caught her eye. Her hand stopping in its place in the upper corner where she normally turned the pages, she ran it over the parchment and read.

_Lucius Malfoy, 1954--_

_Current Residence: Azkaban; Son of Abraxas Malfoy_

_Lucius Malfoy was born a smiling child. His laughter rang throughout St. Mungo's at his birth, but soon, by the next day, his laughter died and a sneer replaced it. Healers there were puzzled at this sudden change of attitude of the baby who was not even a week old. His first word was "Mudblood" and his first sentence (however grammatically incorrect) was "I eat you." His mother, however, had mentioned her son in a diary entry:_

_"...it was oddly quiet, and I felt as though I needed to check up on Lucius. I quietly entered his room. He was soundly sleeping, as I had expected him to be, as it was well past midnight. I watched him in silence for a while, unable to leave. As I turned to go, however, I thought I saw something by the lines of a smile cross his face. It was nothing so strong, perhaps more of a grin, but this was the first time... the first time since he was a baby, when he was only a newborn in my arms, when I had seen him smile..."_

_(--excerpt from Victoria Malfoy's diary, May 1961)_

_However, during Lucius's conscious hours, he showed no such sign of sympathy. Since he was a young boy, he threw stones at dogs and often enjoyed scolding the house elf in his spare time. He held a fascination for the Dark Arts, and his father taught him much about it before he left for school. He attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and was sorted into Slytherin (under Professor H. Slughorn), though he was close to being sent to Durmstrag instead._

_It was clear that Lucius had put his ten minutes of bright childhood behind him when he became a Death Eater. The reason being is not quite certain, but he experienced a great change of attitude. His mother had once compared his current state in life as to what she had thought he'd become at his birth (see page 438). She seemed to be intent on discovering the reason that had caused him to turn from a laughing boy to a cruel, heartless Death Eater._

_Though the results are still uncertain, Victoria Malfoy seemed to offer reasons appear to be highly possible with the fact that she had gathered behind it. However, there are many choices, and it may just be that Lucius Malfoy was always meant to be a cold person to begin with..._

Hermione slammed the book shut, her heart pounding. _Bloody hell_, she thought. There was much more to the Malfoy family line than she had initially anticipated.

And slowly, Hermione opened the book once more...

--------------------------

It was always true, and would always be true: when finding an intriguing book, one cannot simply _put it down_, and such was the case with Hermione. She had not read much out of that leather bound book, but had found herself rereading the same passages over and over again, scrutinizing every sentence to the last word. And, before she could comprehend time or state, she found her eyes drooping with weariness until she could no longer keep them open.

Stumbling into her room, she hid the book beneath her pillow and fell into a needed sleep. And, all too soon, the sun had rose and the day had conquered night once more in their ongoing battle of superiority.

Rising and hoping that there would be no activity today--so that she could spend her day reading--she hesitantly walked into the sitting room, where the others awaited her. She was the third to rise, but the last to enter; her internal debate on whether or not to show attendance had lingered her from arriving.

"And as the last member of our party has finally decided to make an appearance," Draco started immediately, coldly and pointedly staring at Hermione, who, in return, narrowed her eyes, "I may commence." He cleared his throat for the dramatic effect, irritating Hermione to no end. "There will be no adventure."

Sudden invisible weight--so invisible that even Hermione was not aware of its existence--lifted into delight and excitement. A faint smile even flickered across her face and her eyes sparkled with anticipation.

"However--" With that single word, she felt her world come crashing down again and a frown settled upon her features. "--I am to spend a single day with each of you for the next four days."

"With us alone?" Liah said to assure herself his words to be true. "And no one else? A single one of us?"

Draco nodded slowly, almost reluctantly, as though he were wondering if it was a good thing or not. "Yes," he said finally. "I said that, didn't I?"

A delighted squeal followed these words as Delilah floated into the air, twirling around giggling excitedly. "And who is to be the maiden today?" she said in an annoying perky fashion that irritated Hermione, who was already standing up and heading toward the doorway. She was quite certain that she would not be picked.

"Liah," he responded, not looking at anyone in particular. Delilah let out an audible disappointed sigh while Liah immediately stood, excited by the prospect of her attendance with Draco.

"Me?" she repeated, feigning a look of surprise and hiding a smug look. "Then I must prepare!" She disappeared into her room, likely to choose her dress and prepare her make-up. At this, Draco sighed, preparing himself for quite a long wait and looked utterly bored.

Hermione threw a smirk over her shoulder at him. "I hope you have an _excellent_ time," she remarked sarcastically as she turned away before Delilah could begin her complaints, leaving Draco mad at her. But she didn't care, and since when did she?

Never.

And she doubted she ever would.

--------------------------

Liah came back far too soon for Hermione's preference, and, along with that, came Draco--another setback to their arrival. It would have been better if they had been lost in their own paradise (though Hermione doubted it was a paradise at all for Draco) and been incapable of returning, via Portkey. Even in the far corner of the library, she could hear Delilah's loud whining and Liah's dreamy words.

Sighing, she closed the book and entered her room, closing it soundly behind her and hid her head beneath the pillow. However, even those attempts did not stop the sounds from reaching her. With another exasperated sigh, she put the book down and left; she could not read such an intense book without complete and utter concentration.

Delilah and Liah's careless cries would not help her at all.

The voices grew louder as Hermione approached, irritated. Soon, words were being made from Liah's mouth. "...and it was such a dazzling blue, sparking, too! And we were on a ship, and zere was soft music playing in ze background..."

Hermione saw Delilah's wistful gaze as she sighed dreamily, imagining the scene unfold, wishing it was her instead of Liah all the while.

"...and 'e asked me to dance with him, and of course I said yes!" Liah continued. With this comment, Delilah was jerked out of her daydream and realized that it was Liah who danced with Draco, not her, and a sour look of jealousy crossed her face.

Hermione, other hand, strongly doubted that the evening flowed as smoothly as Liah exaggerated it to be. She imagined her pestering Draco in certain sly ways until he admitted defeat (a sight that she would have loved to see) and stiffly asked her to dance.

Which, in fact, was rather close to the truth, but not quite.

Annoyed with Liah's tale, Delilah suddenly diverted the conversation to the bachelor. "Draco!" she purred delightedly. "I'm sure you had a fabulous time, but I assure you a much better one with me." A smile was on her face, causing him to shiver in disgust.

Hermione, who didn't like Delilah the least bit, enjoyed to see Draco being tortured even more. When she originally arrived to tell them off for talking so loudly, she instead changed tactics and merely smirked in the background.

Standing up and shoving Delilah off him, he started toward his dormitory. Delilah, pouting for only a moment, stopped him. "How about a dinner?" she suddenly proposed out of the blue.

He frowned. "A dinner?" he echoed, thoroughly confused.

Delilah nodded eagerly. "A romantic, formal dinner tonight," she said.

He paused for a moment, slowly understanding. It was clear that he didn't want to go, but he could not simply turn the persistent girl down. Hermione's grin widened. They were constantly trying his patience, she knew. It would be a matter of days before he snapped and his act of thoughtfulness would be taken down, revealing his own wicked manner.

"I'm sure the other maidens have other plans and cannot attend," he said.

Delilah opened her mouth to respond; it was clear that she intended for only the two of them to dine together. However, Liah spoke before Delilah could, gliding over the redhead's words.

"Contrary to your belief, I personally have nothing planned for tonight," she said smoothly. "It would be a wonderful time."

With the two of them combined demanding the dinner, Draco gave in before the argument grew worse. With a frustrated look in his eyes, he said, "All right, then. Ensure that Ariise is aware." He then turned and left, leaving Delilah and Liah to bicker among them.

Figuring that neither of them would tell Ariise of the dinner, Hermione decided to inform Ariise herself. Suddenly, an idea occurred to her.

She wouldn't be forced to attend, and if Ariise didn't know, Draco would be trapped with the two girls the whole night.

And she intended on doing just that.

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Strange, strange ending. Couldn't think of anything, sorry.

I'm sorry if you guys didn't like this chapter. It's leading up to something. XD It seems a lot like a filler and an explanation. I needed this chapter to get along.

But please, please review. They really encourage me and help me update faster... seriously.

Thanks!


	6. Chapter 6

Yeah, tried to get this chapter out earlier but... uh... yeah. You guys know how it is. XD Heh, projects are already picking up and stuff. Sorry bout the short length, but I wanted to get something out.

But guess what? I got accepted into the number one school in my state! That means more homework and less update time. Okay, maybe not so good news after all. (Insert sad face here) But it's my birthday in three days and I'm turning fourteen! (BIG SMILE)

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Hope you enjoy! Please review! (As an early birthday gift...? XD Pushing it, I know.)

------------------------------

Chapter Six

Hermione grinned slightly at the thought but quickly took it back once her morals were refreshed in her mind. It would be unfair to Ariise to be ignorant; she could not decide for the witch. However, she could attempt to influence Ariise's final decision, though she could not control the decision. With the thought in mind, she knocked twice on the dark haired girl's door and opened it when she heard admittance.

Ariise was sitting at the desk and had just blown out a candle by her desk; Hermione saw it was still smoking thin, grey wisps. Sliding open a drawer and placing writing into it, Ariise said, "Is there an issue?"

Hermione shook her head, watching Ariise as she put down her quill. "Nothing much," she relied honestly. "Delilah and Liah have persuaded Malfoy into organizing a dinner today, which we are to attend." She paused for a moment, letting the information draw into Ariise's mind. "I thought that perhaps we could delight Delilah and Liah by leaving them alone with Malfoy. I'm sure the prat wouldn't mind."

Ariise listened to Hermione's proposal. Her eyes flickered to the closed drawer for a moment before saying with an amused smirk on her face, "Which prat?" She then nodded in understanding and stood. "I suppose I will let him have this one chance at relief. He was insensitive enough this morning, after all."

Hermione smiled, relieved. "Thank you," she said, beaming. "Well, then, enjoy your night."

It was a casual enough comment, but Ariise darkened at the thought. "I'm certain I will," she replied, but her tone wasn't exactly sincere. Hermione was left, saying good-bye awkwardly before leaving, closing the door neatly behind her. Perhaps Ariise was not having the best of days. Sighing, she headed into the library--the one place that she ever seemed to be fully content in the manor.

However, to her surprise, the door to the library was already swinging when she came. Frowning, she slowly advanced; never had she seen anyone else enter the library. With a quick glance behind her and finding no one, Hermione proceeded into the library, looking for somebody.

When her mission ended with a futile result, she sighed and took her seat by the fire. As she reached over to pick a book up, she noticed something in the fire, burning. With a frown, she slid from the chair and onto the floor, kneeling to peer closer at it.

It was a letter.

Her frown deepened. Weren't letters to the outside not allowed? Otherwise, her letter to Ron and Harry would have already been sent. She looked more closely at the parchment and, before the fire completely devoured it, she read two single words:

_We're waiting._

It was a peculiar enough message with a peculiar enough meaning. Hermione's heart started to hammer with anticipation, fright, and curiosity. She rested against the chair as she watched the flames licking the parchment, turning it to nothing but black ash. However, even though the writing was gone, the words stayed vivid in her mind. _We're waiting..._

It could be something completely innocent, and it likely was. After all, contact with the outside world seemed to be forbidden during the process. Perhaps someone had been writing a story and hated it afterwards and threw it in the fire as a rash action. Yes, that was probably it; Hermione let out a long sigh, pushing the ideas to the back of her mind. It was nothing important, simply a novel that a maiden had been writing and discarded.

Even so, her mind was spinning with overwhelming thoughts and ideas.

She couldn't sleep at all that night.

-----------------------

Draco came in the next day, looking angry and frustrated, shooting looks of pure loathing at Hermione, who tried her best to smile smugly. After all, she received her desired result, but after the previous day's findings, she thought that she would have preferred a dinner with a jerk. One evening's worth of frustration was the lesser evil when compared to a night full of agony--and perhaps more than that as well.

Their glaring contest was quickly ended when Delilah slid over next to Draco, a pleasant smile on her face. "Well, Draco?" she said, her voice coated in a disgusting layer of honey. "Who is to go with you today?"

The blond wizard looked at the redhead somewhat wearily and sighed. "Unfortunately, it's Granger."

Hermione's head snapped up as she heard her surname called. Upon realizing that she was to be the second to go privately with Draco, she growled slightly in anger and frustration. "I'll pass," she said coldly as she folded her arms, looking in the other direction.

"If that was possible," he replied dryly, "then I would have done the same exact thing." Delilah seemed extremely disappointed, letting her shoulders sag and a pout gracing her face as Draco stood. With great reluctance, Hermione followed his example and walked to the other side of the room as the glass cage holding the Portkey disappeared into the air as it always did.

"You know, I don't appreciate yesterday's play," he growled in an undertone as they held onto the Portkey. Hermione wondered briefly if she should do the same thing as last time and let go at the last moment and let him travel alone, but decided against it when she thought of what other mystery she'd come upon if she did just that.

"Mm, more the reason to do it," Hermione replied indifferently as the world around them started to spin. _Too late now_, she thought as she felt the winds starting up around her, beating against her face in a stinging, swirling manner.

When they died down once more, the Portkey revealed a hotel with the glistening letters of _Honeymoon Hotel_ hanging in a cheerful manner, bordering a lulling, quiet beach. The air wasn't a hot, searing summer day, but it was rather cool and damp--not exactly the imagined beach vacation.

"You don't think--" Hermione started, but Draco was already ahead of her, walking up the steps and swinging open the glass door of the hotel. He glanced behind him to look at her pointedly before letting it swing behind him. Hermione tutted under her breath in annoyance as she ran to the door, entering the hotel slightly out of breath while casting him an angry glance. He, however, only smirked, which frustrated her even more.

Walking up to the receptionist behind the counter, he said, "Draco Malfoy, checking in."

The receptionist, an attractive young girl with graceful locks of blonde hair, nodded and smiled sweetly. She flipped through the large schedule book and ran a finger down a column, her lips moving as her eyes scanned the names over. "Ah, Draco Malfoy!" she said, then faltering as her eyes fell upon another name. Looking up and spotting Hermione, she said, somewhat less cheerfully, "And you must be Hermione Malfoy."

Hermione's brows furrowed at the name as she shivered in disgust. "Actually, I--" she started, but was quickly cut off by the girl.

"Mm, well, your room is 334 and these are your keys." She opened a drawer and removed a pair of brass keys before dropping them in on the counter. Draco immediately took them both, ignoring the look of protest given to him by Hermione. "Thank you for choosing at Honeymoon Hotel," she continued, though not as enthusiastic before. In fact, it sounded recited. "Enjoy your stay."

With a quick nod, Draco left again, leaving Hermione once more to chase after him with a frustrated grunt. She didn't quite understand his deliberate ignorance; the prank she had pulled last night had not been a severe one. Agonizing, yes, but not quite cruel, and certainly not a harsher punishment than what he deserved.

Unless...

Hermione tried her best to hide a smile. It was so obvious; why had she not seen it before? He was not quite fond of Delilah and Liah, and that much was certain--after all, if he was, leaving him with the two would not have been much of a punishment. But ontop of that, he hated her, as she did him. So, by the process of deduction, he'd hope to wed Ariise--and Hermione had stopped the dark haired girl from attending the dinner.

At this realization, Hermione's mind was swarming. She thought of new ways to torture him. After all, it would not be quite compromising that Ariise was on friendly terms with her, his enemy from school days. Hermione tried to suppress her laugh as she picked up her pace with newfound energy to catch up to Draco.

He noticed her excitement and frowned, anger visible in his face. "What?" he snapped at her. When Hermione only continued to smile, amused, he bit back a growl and decided to ignore her as he had before and continued to walk forward.

"Why do you keep doing that?" Hermione suddenly asked.

"Doing what?" came the reply, somewhat muffled as he was speaking in the opposite direction.

Hermione sighed and ran toward him again, crossing into the beach. The sand was damp and soft beneath her feet and she left light footprints behind her as she jogged, spraying light layers of sand into the air. "Keep walking ahead of me."

Here, Draco let out a strangled sort of bark-like laugh, surprised and shocked that she had even raised such a question. "Is there a reason I should stay behind?" he retorted.

Hermione pursed her lips crossly before replying. "Well, I wouldn't enjoy chasing after you this whole day. Not exactly the way I planned to spend it." She shot a look of anger toward the back of his head.

"Then don't follow me," he replied simply, waving his hand, but he stopped to look behind him. "Go somewhere else."

Hermione sighed, frustrated. "Well, wouldn't that raise questions? This is a _honeymoon_ resort. See those happy people in groups of two? They're called newlyweds. Newlyweds spend time together and--"

"Last I checked, Granger, we are _not_ married," he said sharply, interrupting her. "And, last I checked, this is a fake world."

Hermione fell silent. When she did not immediately respond, Draco sighed and turned back around to walk away from her. In all honesty, Hermione wasn't quite sure why she wanted to speak to him. Only ten minutes ago, she demanded that she stay behind. However, the new realization had spurred her curiosity, making her wonder what else about Draco that she didn't know.

"How's your mother?" Hermione suddenly said.

Draco froze in place and slowly turned around, a frown on his face. "What?" he asked.

"How's your mother?" she repeated. "I hadn't seen her since the start of this whole ordeal." And it was true; Narcissa had not revealed herself since the introductions.

Draco shrugged slightly, though his shoulders still, for the majority, remained stiff. "She's still alive."

Hermione frowned and her curiosity increased tenfold as she heard Draco's reply. "What do you mean?" she asked, an inch of worry in her voice. She always worried for anyone who was ill, and, for this reason, she had once considered becoming a Healer as a choice of work. "Is she not fine?"

"I said she's alive, didn't I?" Draco said, irritated. "Doesn't that mean she's fine?"

Hermione advanced toward him, but in a slow step. Her eyes were downcast as she walked. "No," she said softly. "Not necessarily."

Draco sighed, clearly thoroughly annoyed with her responses. "Well, she's well enough. Not that it's any of your concern," he said bitingly as he turned away, walking away in a quicker pace. And, although Hermione's curiosity was peaked, she knew it was not the time to follow. And, slowly and reluctantly, she headed in the opposite direction.

When her feet were tired, she let herself rest by lying down upon the soft, damp sand. Sighing, she watched as the sun reach the middle of the sky over the course of several hours. _Only several hours left to go until the Portkey allows itself to reappear,_ she thought bored. Sand had wedged itself in the most uncomfortable places--between her toes, fingers, and nails. The wind was somewhat harder than Hermione would have liked, but, with the dawning noon, warmth was piling in a refreshing manner.

"Hermione?" a voice said, interrupting her peaceful, however boring, splendor.

Hermione craned her neck to find the source of the voice. It certainly wasn't Malfoy's, and she knew that quite well. But who else would recognize her? After all, it _was_ a fake world, was it not?

She squinted slightly as she hoisted herself up, trying to dust the sand from her hair but to no avail. It clung on mercilessly. Quickly, she clambered up and tried to dust off her clothing, but the majority of the wet sand was just as defiant as the clumps on her hair.

"What are you doing here?" the voice came again.

Hermione made out a figure standing in front of her. Who was it? He looked vaguely familiar... "Ernie?" Hermione suddenly said. "Ernie Macmillan?"

He nodded eagerly. It was that same Hufflepuff from her school days. "Yes, it's me!" he said, a smile on his face. "Have you been here the entire time? Harry and Ron have been worried sick when they couldn't find you anywhere!"

_Harry and Ron?_ Hermione's smile faltered slightly. Was this a real place, with real people? It couldn't be! It was supposed to be entirely made of imagination! "Oh, err, no, not really," she said, blushing slightly. "I tried to right to them, but I wasn't allowed."

"Not allowed?" Ernie repeated, thoroughly surprised. "How can it be that you can't owl somebody?" He sighed wearily, shaking his head. "Hermione, what have you gotten yourself into?"

"It's not what _I_ got myself into," Hermione said in a snappish manner. "It's what got _me_." She gritted her teeth slightly. "You're Pureblooded, aren't you?" When she was met with a nod, she continued, "Apparently I was 'selected by fate' to be a participant of that deadly Pureblooded matrimony ordeal."

Ernie's eyes widened. "What?" he said, sounding thoroughly horrified. "What kind of a twisted family still continues that tradition?" Apparently he knew of all the dangers involved, and maybe even more than Hermione was aware. However, just simply off of his reaction, Hermione knew there was more in store for her.

She grimaced. "A rather twisted one." She thought about explaining how Draco Malfoy was the bachelor, but it seemed far too awkward to say so. After all, Ernie had detested Malfoy almost as much as Hermione, Harry, and Ron did.

"But perhaps it's modified, since you're here," Ernie commented lightly, yanking her out of her thoughts. "Perhaps it's safer. Maybe. My family discontinued it long ago."

The conversation then stretched over to a more light-hearted one as they spoke of family life and strange family traditions. It was an enjoyable experience, learning of Ernie's aunt's secret ingredient to a pie. Quickly, Hermione's position as a maiden slipped from her mind in an easing manner until she realized a few hours had passed. _The Portkey_. It was available now! Suddenly, with a jerk, Hermione recalled the adventure she was supposedly on. "Well, I think I should be going," Hermione said hurriedly, suddenly remembering as well that real people weren't supposed to exist in adventures. It could be dangerous to reveal so much, or not. However, Hermione, who was still an amateur at this new subject, didn't want to learn it the hard way.

And, with a quick good-bye, she hurried away, only to stumble into none other than Draco Malfoy--the one antagonist of her life that she was not quite intent on meeting. However, life does not often comply to wishes, no matter how strong or weak, and chooses its own course to arrange things in. And, despite the relentless fact that she despised Malfoy with a passion, this meeting was not so much of an unwanted one.

Hermione took a glance behind her; Ernie was now a mere speck in the horizon. Slightly out of breah, she said, "I met somebody."

He sneered in a mocking manner, his eyes taunting. "Oh, I met somebody too," he said sarcastically.

Hermione glared, irritated. The matter she wished to discuss was serious, and she wasn't exactly willing to tolerate mockery and games at the moment. Seeing her gaze, he fell silent and waited for her to continue. "It was Ernie Macmillan, the Hufflepuff from our year in Hogwarts."

The sneer on his face tilted slightly. "That idiot?" he said, scoffing. "Well--"

"He is _not_ an idiot; he is quite intelligent, as a matter of fact!" Hermione interrupted hotly, angry with his unnecessary negative comments. "And were you not listening to a word I was saying? This is an _adventure_. I thought everything was supposed to be fake!"

"It is!" Draco said, crossing his arms. He did not seemed half as agitated as Hermione; in fact, he wasn't agitated at all. He was quite calm. "It was likely a person resembling him."

Hermione shook his head, fueled by the fact that he didn't seem affected by Ernie's appearance. "He spotted me first," she persisted, "and he spoke to me about Harry and Ron."

Draco only rolled his eyes and brought out the Portkey from a robe pocket. "Drop it; it's probably nothing. We can go now, and let us do so."

"But--" Hermione started, but Draco only waved her words aside and quieted her.

"I said, _drop it_," he said sharply. "Now let's go."

"But--" Hermione tried again, but was cut off by Draco's cold look.

"Didn't I say to drop it?" he said. Hermione fell silent as she felt a cold aura radiating from him. "Let's _go_." Hesitantly and slowly, the brunette slid her fingers over the cool metal, feeling it loosely before finally clasping it. And, as soon as she did, the world around her started to swirl, bringing them back to Manor.

Hermione didn't have much of an appetite that day, and even less of one the next day when she found a letter on her desk in a familiar scrawl that happened to belong to Harry's.

Especially when the contents of the letter included Ernie's name and their knowledge of her as a Maiden.

She was right.

It _was_ Ernie.

There _was_ someone real in a supposedly entirely imaginary adventure.

So what happened?


	7. Chapter 7

Yeah, I'm sorta pushing this story along faster. I'm not sure if it's a good or bad thing. What do you guys think?

Thanks to ProwlingKitKat, Queen of Serpents, Hotkat144, ca803, Odi et amo., Kat, Elizabeth lovergood, lazer-angel (x2), moongrace, bluemaui49, HGDM lova, pinkicing101, BA de Danone, tankbbg, The Infamous Wootermelon, Silles, Markitdownb4itsstruck, Moni Jane, Natural- 181, Marionette, carly, cemicool, xmisundazt00d, CrystalizedHeart, emeraldwolfqueen, AmOrFoReVeR, Ehlonna, rachhulk, Silidons, Anti-Monarchist, OrgnlAmagic, KaytiSarai, and pstibbons for reviewing!!! You guys are all so supportive. It makes me feel loved. XD

Long chapter! Enjoy!

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Chapter Seven

"It's right here!" Hermione screamed at the infuriating blond wizard who stood before her, paying attention to everything but her. At the moment, he was inspecting the layer of dust upon a single book with a broken spine, which amounted to none. She held up the letter, wrinkled in her tight fist that was clenched in aggravation. "Why won't you listen to me? It's all right here!"

"What's all there?" Draco said, sounding only half-interested. He placed the well-worn book on the shelf and picked up a nearby book holder and traced its beautiful design of a fairy by the fountain.

Hermione tried her best to resist the urge to rip the book holder from his hands and smashing it against the thick skull of his. "Weren't you paying a single ounce of attention to me?" she yelled. When he did not respond, she yanked the holder from his hands and shoved the letter to him.

"Hey!" he shouted, reaching for the book holder. "That's an antique, that is! If you break it--"

"With your beloved antique at stake," Hermione said loudly, overriding Draco's shouts and protests, "it might be advisable to listen to what I have to say!"

He glared angrily at her. It was clear that he didn't want to listen to what she had to say. Instead, he took out his wand, causing Hermione to grimace inwardly, though she kept her exterior collected. Of all times to bring in magic! "_Accio book holder_."

Hermione didn't have time to fumble for her wand to mutter a shield-blocking spell, and, thus, she felt the holder slip from her grasp and into the ferret's outstretched hands. Hermione let out a strangle cry of anger. She had waited the entire day while he was away with Ariise, staring at the letter. And now that he had returned, he did not listen to a single word that she was trying to shove across.

When he made no move to listen to her and carelessly threw the letter aside, Hermione was affronted. In her anger, she grabbed her wand and pointed it at his neck. He stiffened as he felt the rounded point of the wand press into his skin.

"It's no use," he said, his distracted facade gone and replaced by a cold, serious one. This sudden change made Hermione's grip falter a bit, only for her to push the wand in the back of his neck further. "You cursing me will not get you what you want, will it?"

At this, she truly faltered and she dropped her wand down low. It was true. Her wand point was an empty threat. However, the strike at her pride insulted her and she quickly tried to cover up. "Well, if you'd only _listen_ to me instead of acting like an immature jerk, then maybe--" she started, but she was quickly cut off.

"Don't make up an excuse," he instructed her sharply, giving her only a slight glance. "I have neither the time nor will to listen to it."

Hearing these words, Hermione openly scoffed and stared after him. "No time?" she repeated. "Oh, what is it that's consuming you? Maybe the dust on that blue book isn't checked yet?" she said sarcastically, crossing her arms.

He didn't verbally reply and only gave her a stern look, warning her to be silent. She didn't heed his warning. "And another thing," she continued as she followed him, turning into another aisle of long bookshelves. "You said that we couldn't have any outside contact. What's with this letter?"

"People can write to you, but you cannot reply," he explained carelessly, returning to his previous easy-going manner. Picking up a thin, hardcover book, he frowned slightly. Upon flipping through the pages and finding nothing wrong with it, he shrugged and put it back. "However, the letters are filtered to ensure that politics and such influences are removed. Only petty matters, such as family issues, the latest gossip, fashion are left."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. She wasn't quite fond of the idea of people nosing through personal letters. "And who filters them?" she said dangerously, as though daring him to say that he himself had filtered her letters. "You?"

To her surprise, Draco had audacity to laugh out loud. "Why in the world would I care to know any of your business?" Hermione let out a small breath of relief; at least he had the common sense to stay out of private issues. "No; it's filtered out by magic." He shook his head.

"Oh," Hermione said somewhat offhandedly, trying to figure out what she was supposed to say next, letting an awkward silence hang down between them as she attempted at her memory. "Well, then, what of Ernie?"

Draco groaned out loud immediately after Hermione's comment. "Oh, not again--" he said exasperatedly.

"But why was he there?" she persisted, following him still around the library, as a fly would that refused to be swatted. "You said it yourself, that everyone there was fake!"

With an irritated sigh, he turned toward her and said sharply, "You're delusional. End of sentence. End of topic. End of conversation, if you'll call it that. And, if you're half as smart as they say you are, you'll learn to keep your bloody nose where it belongs."

Hermione stared after him in utter horror at his curtness, but she refused to be beaten. "I am _not_ delusional, and, for your information, I _am_ keeping my nose where it belongs," she said hotly, quickening her pace to catch up with him. "I am involved in this whole ordeal, am I not?" When she was met with no answer, she continued, "Well, I _am_, and I'd really rather not experience a whole dramatic death."

"Not everything is revolving around you, Granger," he said shortly as he tried to out walk her.

"You think this is about _me_?" she said, aghast as she quickened her pace once more. "No, it's not! What about the other three Maidens? It's about them, too!" She paused slightly. "Or are you too self-consumed for them, too?"

He sighed, thoroughly annoyed. "You know, Granger, some things you simply aren't meant to know," he said in a final tone.

This caught Hermione off guard. He had, after all, just admitted that he had a secret that he was keeping from her. He seemed to notice this too and faltered for a moment before that look of annoyance crossed his face again.

"Satisfied?" he said, folding his arms. "Now go."

When Hermione didn't make a move to leave, he promptly decided to leave in place of her. After all, if it meant getting rid of the unrelenting witch, so be it. He was quite fed up, just as she was fed up with him. How did she _not_ understand that he wasn't going to tell her a word? With an angry sigh, he threw the door shut and left Hermione to stare after him.

_So it was all true_, she thought. _That thing I found in the fire... it could really have been a letter from the outside_. After all, family issues were permitted--perhaps someone was plotting something already? But no, that couldn't be--Maidens weren't supposed to know their future until it has come. And Hermione was left there in the library, more confused than ever.

However, the bewilderment wasn't quite over yet, as she would realize the next day.

--------------------------------

It was a clear and cool night, with the stars glistening overhead merrily, telling a story of magic and painting a picture of power. The air was crisp with a certain redeeming freshness, filling Hermione's nose with a natural sweet scent. She removed her shoes and let her toes dig into the soft earth, the gentle breeze blowing by. Grasshoppers were gathering to play in their orchestra, humming their off-beat tunes. Crickets attempted to sing along, chirping throughout the night.

She breathed in deeply as she seated herself upon a garden bench as she gazed into the sky. There would be another adventure tomorrow; Delilah's day with Draco had been done and over with that day. She closed her eyes briefly and shuddered slightly as she recalled Delilah's obvious attempts to make herself appear at her best with heavy make-up and unnaturally curly hair.

In the serene setting, Hermione soon found herself to calm and drift into a gentle sleep, until a clearing of the throat disrupted her peaceful meditation. Her eyes flickering open, she looked around--and her eyes fell upon Draco Malfoy, _the _arch enemy. She groaned inwardly; she had been having quite the pleasant time before he destroyed it with his very presence. Picking up her shoes, she stood up and tried to shove past the infuriating blond.

She didn't expect his fingers to interlace around her arm as she passed by, catching her by the wrist. Shocked, she slowly turned her head to meet his. "Let me go," she demanded.

He didn't move as he stared at her intensely, making Hermione feel as though she were to burst into flame. Finally, his lips parted slightly and words were formed. "Will you leave if I do?"

Biting her lip, Hermione debated the idea. The obvious answer was 'yes,' that she would leave as soon as she could. After all, who wanted to stay around their greatest enemy? However, he wouldn't let her go if she were to speak that particular word, and, after all, listening to what he had to say was better than him _touching_ her. At long last, she spat out a venomous "no."

A familiar smirk crossed his lips as he dropped her hand, crossing his arms in satisfaction. However, that look quickly faded and turned into a solemn one, but he didn't speak a word. Hermione's patience was thinning; it was obvious by the way her breathing was starting to huff, irritated; her foot was tapping, and then the narrowing of the eyes. And, after a few more moments of silence, Draco suddenly blurted into the emptiness, "I need your help."

Hermione was taken completely by surprise, her jaw dropping slightly and her eyes squinting at him, as if worried there were something wrong with him. And, indeed, he seemed slightly startled and discomforted by what he had said as well. After all, he hated her, and vice versa! "What?" she said, dumbfounded.

"You heard what I said," he said, irritated. "I'm not going to say it again."

She could very well understand that. They all had their own limits of pride, to what they would extend to before being pushed back by their pride once more. Quickly, she shook her head and recovered from her shock, recollecting herself. Shifting from foot to foot, she muttered, "Sorry... but what about?"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he contemplated how to word his thoughts. He started to pace back and forth short distances, his breathing aggravated. Hermione, for once, didn't push him, letting him have his own time. And he did take up a lot of time--perhaps even hours, but no one was counting the time.

"You talked about Macmillan the other day," Draco suddenly said, startling Hermione as his voice disrupted the silence she'd grown somewhat accustomed to while waiting for his words. It took a while for her to comprehend his words. _Is he finally admitting--?_ "I didn't want to believe it."

Hermione's lips parted, her brows furrowed slightly, ready to ask a question--but just as she made a sound, he shot her a look that silenced her. It was clear he didn't want questions in between his storyline. "My mother--I told you that she was fine two days ago." Hermione looked ready to protest and contradict him, but he quickly glided over, not letting her have any room to speak. "She noticed something strange--that you should be here. You, a Mud--Muggleborn."

Should this have been a normal occasion, Hermione's eyes would have darkened considerably at him calling her a Mudblood. However, this was not a normal occasion, as her curiosity peaked once more and her eyes grew alight with intense wonder and let him speak.

"There had never been Muggleborns in these Pureblooded ceremonies before. Fate never brought them in. Occasionally, there would be a Half-blood, but should that be the case, the Half-blood's heritage would be kept secret by the family, should she be chosen--which she often was not." He shook his head. "But never a Muggleborn."

Excitement grew from that curiosity. Should her status be revealed, she would be known as the first Muggleborn in a Pureblooded matrimony cermony--but was that a good thing? Her excitement quickly subsided into doubt as she frowned slightly.

"And when you came--" He paused slightly, flustered. "And when you came--she knew something was wrong, different. That the magic was changing. Fate was evolving. I didn't want to believe it." His eyes flickered to the floor and a slight blush rose to his pale cheeks. "And when you said that you had met Ernie Macmillan when there should have been no one real--that just proved my mother's beliefs even more."

Hermione nodded, but was inwardly still quite confused. She didn't understand the topic that Draco was dancing around. Though he was to the point, it seemed that there was something he hadn't quite yet revealed.

"Mother said that, when she was a Maiden, she had found a book describing habits of such matrimony habits and the Malfoy line." He shook his head. "It could be anywhere, and interpretation..." He paused slightly, an ironic grin on his face that shouldn't have been there. "Well, you've always been best at that."

Slowly, dawning realization fell upon Hermione as things finally clicked together. "You want me to help you find these books, and to help you figure out what the Portkey's secret is?" He slowly nodded and a smile crossed her face. "I suppose I'll help. After all," she said, "it _is_ what I'm best at."

Hermione's throat constricted, as though she had something to say--but how would she say it? That she had already found the book? It was like invading private property. She closed her mouth and nodded slightly, tightening her smile and standing. She knew that he would be feverishly searching for the book; they could save time and trouble. But... "Well, then," she said. "Let's start looking."

He opened his mouth; he had obviously not expected her to start the search so early. She only gave him a pointed look before turning around and ran back into the manor, barefoot. With a slow smirk--close enough to a smile, though he would never admit that--he shook his head and chased after her into the house.

The grounds were vast, to put it lightly, and it was not a quick run back inside the manor. In fact, by the time both of them were sheltered once more, they were panting somewhat heavily, a flushed look on their faces. Hermione fell upon the couch, relaxing her tired legs for a brief moment. Draco, who was slightly more athletic and stronger, remained standing and leaned against the wall. "So," he started, surprisingly casual, "which library do you propose that we search in first?"

Hermione hesitated. Should she...? After all, she did have a sense of justice in her. She shouldn't have been nosing in that book. "The Maiden's Library," she said as she hoisted herself up.

His brows knitted together slightly in thought. "There?" he said. "That's the last place I'd look."

"Well," Hermione said in that familiar know-it-all voice of hers, "she _did_ find the book while she was a Maiden, didn't she?" Draco said nothing but a slight hint of pink rose to his cheeks. Noticing this, Hermione laughed slightly. "She hasn't been exactly obedient?"

Draco wrinkled his nose slightly and looked about somewhat awkwardly. "Well... not _exactly_..."

"I don't need to know," Hermione said quickly to spare him the discomfort. An unspoken truce had settled between them while they were to work together. "But it seems logical to be there; after all, if you've been in this manor your whole life and you've never stumbled upon it yet--"

He interrupted her with a sort of bark-like laugh. "Granger, not everyone spends their days in books as you do," he told her, "and you have not seen how many books are in each library. It would take a miracle to find the book, and, like the Portkey, it doesn't respond to spells. Its own magic repels it."

Hermione suddenly frowned. "Its own magic?" she questioned.

He nodded, seeming somewhat grave. Letting out a long, exasperated sigh, he explained solemnly, "Not enough, but enough. You see, it won't simply _reveal_ itself to anybody, from what I gather." He stood upright and shook his head. "Which makes it altogether more difficult to find."

Hermione blanched slightly. It wouldn't reveal itself to anybody? But... she'd found it, or so she believed. "What--what happens if I find it?" Hermione asked attentively, watching for his reaction carefully. "I mean, I'm not part of your flesh and blood, and so--"

He shrugged. "I don't know."

Hermione dared to continue. "What if... what if I already found it?"

His head shot up from the floor as he focused in on her, scrutinizing her closely. "What?" he said. "You found it?" Hermione didn't respond verbally and only fidgeted slightly and looked to the floor. "Did you read it?"

Here, she felt forced to answer. "A--a little bit," she admitted quietly, her eyes looking everywhere but at him. "I was going to read more, but I never found the time..."

He was white with quite rage that she had found something and hadn't told him about it, especially when it was so personal and tied with his family line. Granted, they weren't the best of friends, but an invasion of privacy! "Show it to me," he commanded, his voice deathly. And, in such circumstances, Hermione didn't protest and immediately brought him into the library, her head bowed down, meek.

Her footsteps were relatively small but quick, and they made it to the library in record time. In her haste and, for lack of a better word, slight shame, she brought him to the library, chiding herself. If only she hadn't told him!

_But_, another voice piped up in her mind, _no one said she _couldn't_ read it._ Granted, it was a very personal book, but other than common sense, well-- _But it was only a little bit!_ And that little bit led to more curiosity, of course, and--

She groaned inwardly. She wasn't fooling anyone but herself. She was at fault this time around.

Suddenly, she paused at a bookshelf and ran her finger over the books, searching for that one dark binding with silver letters. "It was here..." she breathed as she furrowed her brows, not understanding why it was gone.

"Are you sure it's _this_ bookshelf?" Draco asked, still irritated with her. He didn't seem to have patience.

She nodded. "It was!" she exclaimed, frustrated with its disappearance. She looked like a liar now as well as a cheat. "I remember this book--and then my eyes scanned over here and I found..."

Her breath was suddenly caught in place as she frowned. There, once again, was that small, worn book titled _The History of the Malfoy Family Line_. It hadn't been there a moment before...!

Reaching out, she slowly took the book from its place on the shelf, looking it over suspiciously. However, before she could finish her inspection, Draco had walked over and stripped the book from her hands. "Is this it?" he said coldly.

Hermione looked angered. _I was at fault_, she thought readily, _but that gives him no excuse--!_ Particularly when she had saved him hours--perhaps days--of tedious, futile search. "No," she said sarcastically. "That's just a calendar I leave around in the library."

He ignored her comment as he started to walk away with it. Hermione pouted slightly and had to run to keep up with him. "So?" she said, irritated. "Oh, just walk away with it, why don't you? After all, no thank you, no--"

"Thank you," he said indifferently, though his words were cold and it was clear he didn't mean it. "Will you leave me alone now?"

Hermione was somewhat flabbergasted. He was perfectly civil only moments earlier; what had happened?

Picking up her pace, she said pointedly, "I hardly think that you would ask me to do the more laborious part of the work and not let me have any share in the more intriguing part, now, do I?"

He didn't even spare her a single glance. "Why would I wish to work with you any longer than I must?" By now, they had left the Maiden's library and were working their way down, past the sitting room.

At this, Hermione audibly scoffed. "Well, if you were going to tell me _part_ of it, did you honestly think I'd help you find it and let it drop?" She laughed at the mere idea. "Even though we are deepest enemies, Malfoy, I doubted that even _you_ knew me as little as that."

"Well, it doesn't seem to matter, does it? After all, you're so good at _nosing_ into people's business--" Draco began hotly, his voice rising as he walked, still managing not to turn to look at her.

"If you want to _bring up that subject again_, then--" Hermione said, her voice covering Draco's, only for his to cover hers.

"Well, it seems like I do, don't I?" he said loudly.

Their protests of anger grew into shouts and yells. "Such _immaturity_--"

"--_nosing_ through books that you know full well--"

"--tolerated, especially in the circumstances--"

"--but oh, no, you decided to simply _go ahead_ and--"

"--over something as small as uncontrolled curiosity--"

"--and I simply cannot believe I'm arguing with a mindless person like you!" They had both finished off with the same line, both fuming and standing tall, eyes clouded with anger. The intense heat of the argument slowly and subtly retreated until an awkward silence hung in between them.

Hermione was the first to break it. "Well, then," she said somewhat briskly, "I assume, since I _am_ quite a mindless person, that you won't be needing my help. Merlin knows that you'd go along so much _faster_ by yourself." She sneered at him, being thoroughly sarcastic--and he knew she was, too.

When he did not respond but merely glared at her with his lips curled into anger, she turned on her heel and walked away, slamming the door to her bedroom to vent a bit of her retained anger. In fact, she was so furious that sleep came hard that night, until finally, her anger drained out and she passed out.

--------------------------------

The next day came and both Hermione and Draco awoke rather sore. Both of them promptly refused to even _glance_ at each other, mainly for pride. On Draco's part, well--he was quite aware that with Hermione's aid, his research would be completed much faster. However, after their previous night's quarrel, he was not quite so willing to step down and admit his faults.

Though he could not be accused for this major pride issue--after all, Hermione had just as much pride as he did, if not more.

However, they allowed themselves to be distracted by Liah and Delilah. More precisely, Draco allowed himself to be distracted _by_ Liah and Delilah, while Hermione allowed herself to be distracted by her complaints of their actions. And the prospect of going on a new adventure did _somewhat_ help.

With a wary step toward the Portkey, the five of them latched upon the silver figure, Hermione last. The memories of their last group adventure lingered in her mind. Though her arm was quite well with Ariise's magical aid, she didn't want another incident happening like it--or worse.

Closing her eyes tightly as she felt the world spin around her, she wondered briefly where they were going to end up. What if she were to let go while they were in the middle of transportation...?

All too soon, before she was prepared, the winds died down and the cool metal disappeared from beneath her grasp. Slowly and somewhat reluctantly, she let her eyes flicker open as they fell upon acres of tiny villages and bold mountains shooting up from the earth to where she was. Gasping slightly, she took a step back, realizing that she was on one of these mountains, amidst all these clouds--without any railings to hold onto for protection from falling.

"What...?" Ariise said, frowning, looking at their attire of long, majestic robes and the jewelry they were given. Hermione cared not for the jewelry, unlike Liah and Delilah, who bickered over who had the better stones. Rather, she cared for the itchy, coarse things on her feet that she supposed were to be called sandals.

The building surrounding them were proud with Corinthian columns, grand steps, and noble designs. The modern day technology was gone.

"It's Mount Olympus," Liah said softly before Hermione could comprehend her surroundings as her eyes, too, flickered from the jewelry to around her. "The home of the Greek gods."

Upon this, Hermione felt excitement burst within her. She had always been fascinated by the Greeks, and here she was, living in the Greek culture for a day. And not only the culture, but as a _god_! Not even the Greeks were given this privilege!

"And we're one of them..." Draco muttered, not at all pleased by the situation as Hermione was. He let out a bark-like laugh. "That means the Portkey can be anywhere in the _country_... Oh, what fun."

Looking outward again, Hermione saw how vast the country was. She recalled the geography of the many islands of Greece, and, though she was slightly put down and intimidated, nothing would stop her from having a pleasant time here at Mount Olympus.

Draco, least of all.

With that thought, she let a small triumphant smile cross her face as she turned away from the rest of the group, ready to the adventure worthy of a pleasant title.

...Until there came Zeus.


	8. Chapter 8

Sorry about this long author's note, but...

Of all the things that drive me crazy...

I'm glad you guys enjoyed the last chapter, but here is my pleading request: **constructive criticism, please!** I love reading all these compliments, to some extent... but I'm really out looking for some more constructive criticism. If, say, at least every other reviewer could name an area of improvement, it would be awesome. I'm not all that sure of my story the more I write it (leading to all these rewrites) and I still don't think I've nailed it down. So please help me.

I'm not going to be one of those authors who shut down their whole story simply because of one constructive comment that doesn't go along the lines of, "YOUR STORY IS PERFECT, OMG!" My friend had an unfortunate incident on FF lately when she pointed out how this one author (whose story was not all that great, I can assure you...) could improve her story, and the next chapter was posted dedicated to her, naming her a flamer, cursing at her, saying how she didn't need any more crap in her life, and threatening to shut her whole story down (which, in my point of view, wouldn't be much of a loss) over one constructive comment. And reviewers had sided with this author, cursing at my friend and even PMing her about her immaturity and rudeness.

Frankly, I have rarely been so apalled. (To say that the author was older than my friend as well!)

Times like these I lose faith in FF authors and readers and I get discouraged and start wondering about my own works. So, it would be amazingly great if you guys could point out mistakes or issues in my stories. Thanks!

Sorry about the long author's note. But hey, there's a long chapter too!

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Eleven

"Ares!" boomed a voice. All five of them spun around, searching from left to right. A man with a single thunderbolt clasped within his right hand and wearing a strange-looking toga came into view, stepping in from the mist of clouds.

Draco wasn't dumb; he knew that this god was referring to him, and who the god was. Though he found it strange that the Portkey had given him the role of Ares--of all gods! Though where it might have come from could have been acceptable enough--he still inclined his head politely. "Zeus," he said in greeting.

Hermione was surprised; she did not know that Draco had grace enough to be polite. She had always known that he valued superiority--why else would he walk all over her during their times at Hogwarts, since she was Muggle-born?--but she hadn't ever been on the receiving end of such courteous behavior from him. Granted, he thought he was better than her, but that was another matter in itself.

"There is another war going on between--" Zeus started, but cut himself short when he saw Liah. His expression was blank as he interrupted himself by speaking to her, saying darkly, "I would recommend to you not to anger Hephaestus any further, Aphrodite."

Liah blinked for a moment, looking surprised and confused. She looked around her before realizing that he was, in fact, speaking to _her_ and not anyone else. Dawning realization fell upon her as she understood her role as the goddess of beauty. And naturally, she was flattered by her position and smiled quickly, nodding before bowing out. And Hermione could not deny that, in appearance, Liah fit her role well. In the meantime, however, she could only hope that Liah was off in search of the Portkey instead of a search for gods to flirt with.

At her leave, Zeus turned to the other three maidens and said to each of them, "As well as you two, Eos and Athena," gesturing to Delilah then Ariise with a slight movement of his head. _Athena_? Hermione frowned slightly. Turning to brunette, he said calmly, "I will see you later, Hera."

The concept did not fall in place immediately. _Hera_! Shock and horror fell over her. Of all goddesses she had ever thought had represented her, Hera surely was near the bottom of it. In fact, she'd often compared herself to Athena when she studied it in school--in fact, everyone did that semester. And once again, she felt like a schoolgirl that had not received an O on her latest quiz. A pang of guilt, great disappointment, some fear in what her classmates would say--and, if someone else got an O, a bit of jealousy.

Though she knew that Ariise was rather smart as well, she inwardly thought that _she_ deserved the title of Athena. It was what she wanted all along. Why was it stripped from her? Catching her own thoughts in her mind, she bit her lip and chided herself slightly. It wasn't Ariise's fault; she shouldn't hate her for that. Especially when Ariise had helped her out on numerous occasions.

She sighed as she turned and walked away, bitterly accepting her position. She felt her face flame slightly and embarrassment at being this goddess; even if she wasn't Athena, must she be Hera? In fact, she thought the role fit Liah or Delilah much better. She wasn't manipulative, and she wasn't _beautiful_. She'd been reminded many times in her school days of her bushy hair and buck teeth. The role insulted her. But what could she do but sulk?

_What did I do wrong?_ All her life, she'd always been blaming everything that happened that wasn't supposed to happen--to her, at least--on something--often herself. She slowly walked away among the clouds, but she couldn't help but catch snippets of the conversation between Draco and Zeus.

"...Persia and Greece, granted, are not the best of allies..."

"...in correction, far from it..."

"...another war... perhaps tempted..."

"...blaming me?..."

"...within reason, it is possible that they shall..."

"...and what does this have to..."

"...you know who you are..."

"...occurred to you...?"

"...Troy, once again, in great danger... caught in the middle, as usual..."

"...done anything to stop it?"

"...been busy..."

Hermione sighed, turning away. It didn't matter what was going on in this... Portkey world. She needed to find that small silver item that could bring them back. It could easily be hidden among the clouds, with similar color. She sighed, tossing her hair out of her eyes for clearer vision. Though she still hated herself for not getting the role of Athena, what could she do? It hung heavy in her heart.

She had not been able to search very long when a sudden loud voice declared for her. "Hera!" a voice--recognized as Zeus--shouted out, booming across Mount Olympus. Hermione cringed slightly as she slowly walked over to him, holding her head high as she suspected Hera would.

"Yes, Zeus?" she asked, trying her best to make her voice sweet. She was not very experienced in using her appearance to manipulate people, for obvious reasons. She considered fluttering her eyelashes a bit, but she figured it useless; she didn't need to make a bigger fool of herself. If she was going to be given a role, she'd play the role right.

He grinned at her slightly. "I believe you've promised me something earlier," he said, taking her fragile hand into his own larger one. Hermione shuddered slightly, but fought to keep her appearance collected and resisted the urge to turn away--even bolt in the opposite direction. As he bent his head down over hers, Draco automatically turned away, feeling rather disgusted.

"Yes, Zeus?" he mocked in that sickeningly sweet tone that never came out of Hermione's mouth. He stormed away, feeling repulsed and the irresistible urge to puke. Never had he ever heard a voice so falsely sweet coming from Hermione, and never had he ever hoped to hear it. That voice betrayed everything of the witch's character that Draco was associated with, and it disturbed him greatly.

But it would be humorous enough to see Hermione so disgusted herself. Though she tried her best not to let it on, he could see the way she stiffened at Zeus's touch and cringed at his implying words and suggestive looks. After all, they had not left off at good terms. Even though he needed her help...

His stomach clenched into a tight knot at the thought with weary anticipation. He would have to apologize for her help sooner or later; he had ran through a few pages of the book the other day and, though he learned a lot, could not comprehend some of its content.

Procrastination and delay. That's what he'd do when it comes to apologizing. Procrastination and delay.

When he finally pulled out of his inward distraction, he looked around him. Mount Olympus was so... _grand_, so large. It was like royalty. He'd lived in something close to the lines of royalty his whole life, but the power that radiated from Mount Olympus was nothing similar to the one he was familiar with, the one he grew up with.

The air here was clear and crisp, and the sun shined down upon them in strong streams of light. At his manor, everything was always dark, and there seldom was a ray of sunlight that managed to peek through the stained glass windows. The manor had stood tall and proud in its foreboding manner of death.

The entire environment was changed, no matter how noble--in an odd sense, when it came to the manor--either home was. And frankly, Draco couldn't decide which one he liked better.

Running a hand through his hair like he often did, he looked around from left to right. He examined the tall, towering building structures with elegantly designed walls, carved from stone with a delicate hand. There were many of them--which building kept the Portkey? It might not even be on Mount Olympus; perhaps elsewhere in Greece. Perhaps there were no boundaries. They _were_ gods, after all. Perhaps he could go down and order a mortal to find him the Portkey...?

He turned to look behind him, hopefully to catch a glimpse of where Hermione had gone. She wasn't there anymore, and neither was Zeus. He hoped that nothing _too_ drastic would happen.

-------------------------

The days passed by with no intention on relenting and offering any information or advice as to where the Portkey lay hidden. And, as each hour carried on, Hermione found herself uncomfortable, not at all happy and pleased as she'd expected herself to be when they had first arrived. She was hardly allowed a moment without horrifying images of Zeus plaguing her thoughts. She was worn and tired; how much longer must she keep up the charade? How much longer must she deny him with sweet excuses?

As of the moment, they were strolling together along the park, with his arm wrapped around her waist. Hermione never relaxed into his grip, remaining stiff throughout. "There has been nothing quite as beautiful at night lately, since you had requested for your own room," he said into her ear, causing shudders down Hermione's back. "Are you sure you can handle the night alone?"

Hermione winced slightly, enduring the same type of comment as she had for the past week. "I am quite certain," she said. She had lost the willingness to act and create a sultry voice over the course of the past few days. "However, I will see you whenever I feel particularly alone." She knew quite well that this would be never.

"I certainly hope so," Zeus said. "As for the meantime..." His grip tightened as he turned Hermione around to face him. Slowly, he leaned his head down and Hermione's eyes widened in horror before she squeezed them shut tight, afraid of what was to happen next...

"Hera!" A voice interrupted them and Zeus pulled away before he had met Hermione's lips. They both turned around and, for the first time, Hermione was relieved to see Malfoy.

He stood there, running toward the couple. Nodding to Zeus, he said, "I apologize, but there are matters I must consult Hera with."

Hermione quickly nodded, tying into this form of rescue. "Oh, no," she said dreadfully in act. "I, too, apologize, dear Zeus, but this I cannot avoid." Directing her attention to Draco, she said, "Has Eos done it again?"

Draco blinked and quickly nodded grimly. "I'm afraid so."

"I'm afraid I must go now, Zeus. Good-bye," she said and hurriedly turned around, demanding that Draco take her there instantly. Walking fast paced, so that she could leave before Zeus could quite comprehend what had been going on, they turned a corner and disappeared from Zeus's earshot.

Hermione's tense shoulders relaxed and her stiff posture loosened as she let out a sigh of exhaustion. "Oh, Merlin, I cannot believe I'm saying this, but _thank you_," she rasped, holding a hand to her forehead. "I cannot _wait_ for that Portkey to be found to get out of here."

It seemed that all of Hermione's hate and anger against Draco over their earlier conflict over the research was now over, pushed to the back of her mind. After all, in a situation like this, with Zeus breathing down her neck (and quite literally at that!), a heated argument tends to be forgotten--even on Hermione.

And, upon the unusual word of thanks, came the thought of the unusual rescue. Of all people she had expected to rescue her, Draco Malfoy was the last on the list. In fact, he wasn't likely to even _be_ on the list. She would not have even turned to him as a last resort, and here he was, saving her from the craving Zeus.

He didn't respond immediately, and didn't even reply to her courteous note of thanks. Instead, his eyes flickered around everywhere but at her, looking as though he were searching for the right words to say. Hermione noticed this and quieted, waiting for him to speak.

The silence did not help him at all.

Not that noise would have, either. There are simply some situations that don't flow easily either way, and his situation was one of them. Now, when she seemed so calm, how could he bring the topic of his history up again? How would she react?

"About--about the, err, argument a week ago," he started, sounding flustered. Hermione saw why. Stumbling out an apology was far more difficult than accepting one. At least, she _hoped_ it would be an apology. "...I sort of figured that you _would_ be of help, and so I..."

A grin was playing at Hermione's lips as she leaned against the wall of the building they were hiding behind from Zeus, thoroughly enjoying his agony as he attempted to bite out an apology with his fumbling words, looking somewhat flushed. He seemed quite childish at the moment, in fact, like a little, pampered boy who didn't know how to apologize. On second thought, Hermione then realized, he likely _was_ a little, pampered boy who didn't know how to apologize.

Minus the 'little' part. He was a good head taller than she was.

"...ugh, you get my point!" he finished, frustrated. He seemed angry, but with who, she wasn't sure. Maybe with himself?

Knowing that, as the knowledgeable person she is, if she was to say no and make him continue in his agony, he would blow up and take back his offer. But then again, did she really want to work side by side with such a snotty ferret? The thought disgusted her slightly--but he could be civil. He had proven that. And she hadn't had the exhilarating experience of researching for some sort of secret since the war ended. Having befriended Harry and Ron in her first year, each year proved to have _some_ sort of research.

She missed it, even if it meant working with Malfoy instead of Harry or Ron next to her. "Mm, I suppose. If you remain civil," she said, refusing to show her excitement over his offer. After all, she _did_ have some sort of pride.

She noticed that Draco was shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, pulling at his toga. She didn't care much for the clothing, either, especially those dreadful scratchy shoes they forced her to wear everyday, leaving red marks on her tender feet when she removed them to sleep.

"There... there _is_ something about the Portkey I haven't mentioned yet," he said finally, catching Hermione's attention once more and snapping her out of her daze. "Condono Malfoy--excellent with charms, they say. Somehow he got a hold of the Portkey, only it wasn't a Portkey back then--be it that he forged it or he received it--and charmed it to aid in revealing one's true nature, which is why it was used to determine brides in matrimony. It wasn't quite as dangerous back then--easier, even, for the Portkey showed the true colors of a Maiden. They didn't need to worry about Muggleborns and Half-bloods then, because they were not that common."

"What happened?" Hermione asked. She'd always loved stories as a child, especially these stories with regretful and frustrating twists that resulted in complications that could have been avoided and been unnecessary. Now she was given the chance to participate in one.

"Vaya came along," Draco replied. "Born into a household of seven brothers and she, as the only daughter and the youngest of them all, was always overlooked. She became bitter, but she was incredibly intelligent, and unfortunately so. One night, she cursed the Portkey so that anyone who touched it would be brought to immediate death, for revenge." He gave a bitter laugh as he continued. "Of course, as fate has it, things always go wrong; at the last minute, she changed her mind and messed the spell up. It was still extremely deadly, deadlier than it is now--and she killed herself for shame of it."

"Then why isn't it deadly now?" Hermione said.

"Did you think that they didn't try to fix it?" he said, shooting her a disappointed glance. "They tried, but they didn't know how she said the spell, for she was dead; they could never get it back to its original state."

Hermione hesitated. She was under the impression that it had always been deadly, from what Ernie had supplied for her and the reaction he had when he had realized Hermione's position. She opened her mouth slightly to speak up, but decided against it. Malfoy likely wouldn't know the answer, either.

Where in the world is the Portkey now?

-------------------------

Liah looked around her, thinking hard. She'd stumbled and fallen--it was a lucky thing that no one was there to see her. And now, here she was, wandering aimlessly around the mountains, trying to figure a way to get back up.

As she attempted to do so, one particular mountain caught her eye. There was an entrance to it--was it a pathway up? Curious, Liah slowly walked into the mountain, and was not greeted by a spiraling staircase back up to Mount Olympus, but a whole different room, a whole different place.

The walls radiated red hot heat that caused beads of sweat to fall down her forehead. Who could live in such high temperature? The floor itself was not cleaned, littered with wood shavings and scraps of metal, contrary to the clean, smooth qualities she was certain all the buildings upon Mount Olympus had. Work tools were thrown askew on the wooden tables and, judging by the worn out handles and the rusty appearance, the tools were well used.

The whole place seemed deserted and the silence was cautious, but Liah did not turn around and exit. She took another step further in, and another, each step light and quiet. Through the dimly glowing light, she saw works of weaponry scattered all around. One, however, caught ahold of her gaze--it was not glimmering silver like the rest of the blades and amour, but rather a calm white. Walking over to it, she realized it was not war material; it was a wooden toy. Picking it up, she fingered it gently; the details of the dove were made to perfection. The wings were spread out and the eyes of the toy sculpture glinted dimly in the little light, and, had it not been left in a workshop, she would have believed it to be real.

Suddenly, a rhythmic sound broke the silence, like two things being struck together. _Clackss. Clackss_. Liah looked up, startled, clutching the wooden sculpture in one hand, and followed the sound. She peeked around the canvas that split the room in two and saw a man, with his back turned from her, sitting there, using the one stream of sunlight from the single window to work.

He didn't notice her as he brought the hammer up and swung it down again, causing several hot red sparks to fly into the air. He worked without so much of a mutter, never ceasing to lift his hammer and slam it back down upon his project against the anvil.

It was when Liah dared to take another step forward--causing a floorboard to creak--did he turn to look at her. Liah froze in fear; the man--or god, whichever--watched her with studious eyes, almost accusing. His lips were pursed together, tightened into a frown. Then, with one last dirty look, he ignored her and returned to his work.

When he understood that her presence remained, he finally spoke to her harshly, "What more do you want, Aphrodite?"

Liah's voice was caught in her throat as she searched for an answer. "Err... I..." She felt weak under this god's demand. Though there was nothing at all flattering about his rough appearance, she could feel the power that came from him, the things he was capable of. And she felt something that resembled hate. It was, to be sure, intimidating, and she felt afraid for once.

"If there's nothing," he snapped at her, "then leave."

Liah was just about to do so, turning when something glimmering caught her eye. Slowly turning around, she realized what it was--the Portkey. She looked between the god and the Portkey, its silver wiry yet elegant figure glinting in the ray of sunlight, as if mocking her.

"...That." Her voice was a mere whisper as her eyes fixed itself upon the Portkey.

The god turned and followed her gaze, seeing her staring at the Portkey. "This?" he said, picking up the delicate figure in his hands, fingering it gently. His eyes did not leave the figure, studying its every curve. "No."

Liah, in short, was startled by the response and started to say, "But--" When she caught sight of his angry look, she quieted down immediately.

"This is my best piece of work," he told her. "Simple, yet complex; rough, yet elegant. It seems like there's nothing special about it, but you can feel the magic radiating off of it." He let out a bark-like laugh. "You think I would give this to you after what you've done to me? Get out! And don't come back!"

-------------------------

She ran, breathless, until her legs could not carry her any further. She had, just as mysteriously as she had fallen off the mountain, made her way back up. Her chest was pounding and her hair was not in neat locks as it was this morning. In fact, if any Greek mortal had seen her and learned that she was supposedly Aphrodite, he would have laughed. Aphrodite was never in a more frenzy state.

"Liah!" a familiar voice said, sounding somewhat concerned. She stopped suddenly and looked around her, prepared to meet with Hephaestus again. Her chest felt as though it were on fire and her breathing was ragged. Why she was so intimidated and frightened, she didn't know, but he reminded her so much of...

"Liah?" came the voice again, interrupting her thoughts. Her eyes fell upon Hermione who stood beside Draco as she approached the blonde girl with wide eyes. "What happened? Are you all right?"

It took a while before Liah was in any state to respond. When she did, she panted, "I--I found the--the--the Port--Portkey."

Hermione's own eyes widened and they sparkled with delight and relief. "You have?" She exhaled a relaxed breath, clearly pleased to be released of her duties as a goddess. Or, more precisely, her duties as Hera. "Thank Merlin."

"I--I don't have it," she said quickly and hurriedly, and the relieved expression that Hermione wore was quickly gone, replaced by a confused look. "Heph--Heph--Hephaestus didn't let me have it."

"What?" Draco said, clearly not understanding it. However, Hermione kept silent, trying to piece things together in her mind. She recalled their initial arrival, in which Zeus had scolded Draco for being seen with Liah, and a line about Hephaestus. Could there be a myth explaining Hephaestus's attitude toward Liah?

Liah was Aphrodite, she knew that much. Hephaestus and Aphrodite... weren't they married? So what could have made him so furious and clipped toward Liah? It seemed nothing like a loving relationship. But this was Mount Olympus--life here was a drama.

Drama, drama. Of course. Something must have happened that broke their relationship... something involving Draco... She knew there was a myth on it, she could feel it on the tip of her tongue, ready to tell herself what it was. But it wouldn't surface.

What could break a relationship? Did Aries, as the god of war, pull a stunt upon the two, misleading Hephaestus to believe that Aphrodite was cheating on him? Or... was Aphrodite honestly cheating on him? ...With Aries?

It clicked in her mind. She recalled that myth that she had read one summer in the year before she was accepted to Hogwarts and learned about her magical line. "Before we came," she suddenly said, interrupting whatever Draco and Liah had been discussing without her, "you were married to Hephaestus, but you were caught romantically with Malfoy. And... and he grew bitter..."

Draco blinked slightly after her sudden outburst before scoffing slightly. "Well, that goes smoothly," he said, annoyed. "We can't steal, because the Portkey's ch--" He cut himself off, but Hermione understood (though Liah evidently didn't, with her perplexed look). With the Portkey's change recently, a lie, sin, or crime in the fake world could somehow carry over to the real world. "--challenge, excuse me, wouldn't allow us," he amended quickly, "and it would take forever for Hephaestus to trust you once more, allowing you to take it back."

Hermione had already realized such agonizing thoughts. What could possibly be done?

-------------------------

The days had passed without a brighter outlook. They had decided, for the time-being, before they came up with a better idea, Liah would try her best to please Hephaestus to see if she could warm him up and take the Portkey from him. However, this technique would evidently take quite a long while, and Hermione felt ready to burst, come every seductive comment that slipped through Zeus's mouth. Her insides would squirm uncomfortably in disgust as she tried to keep her distance and he tried to destroy that distance.

"Two weeks, now, in this supposed paradise," Hermione muttered under her breath as she allowed the servants to dress her. She had been quite reluctant to allow them to dress her at all, but with the complex designs and slips of the fanciful toga, she decided it would be far easier to allow them to dress her. "Who ever said being a goddess was fun."

She _had_ to come up with a better plan--or _something_. Anything useful, functional that would take her away from this horrid place. She was, after all, named number one of her class, was she not? _Think, Hermione!_ she thought, agonizing over everything that had been going on.

And suddenly, an idea sparked into her. She was Hera. Hera was known for her slyness, of how she played with things until they satisfied her and seemed to be perfect. Why had she not thought of it earlier? --Perhaps because she was _not_ Hera, and did not think like Hera.

But Hermione should have thought of thinking like Hera already.

The confusing psychological conversation was hurting Hermione's head slightly with the play on words and, hurriedly, she rushed down the mountaintop. Without warning, she barged into Hephaestus' workshop and greeted him politely.

He ignored her and continued to work, slamming his hammer down upon his newest project. Refusing to be put down, Hermione stepped closer and started to speak. "Angry at Aphrodite, are you not?" When he did not respond, Hermione continued, laughing slightly. "That ridiculous number that she pulled on you--! Why, if I were you, I would have done something about it already."

This caught his attention. Sighing, he stopped his work and looked up at her, wiping the sweat that formed on his brow. "What do you want?" he asked gruffly.

Hermione chuckled and reversed the question back at him. "I'm afraid that's not the correct wording," she told him, a sly grin on her face. "What is it that _you_ wish for -- to hatch a plan, perhaps, for revenge on Aphrodite?" Hermione knew that the Greek gods were vengeful and grew jealous easily and used it to her greatest advantage.

He looked thoughtful at the prospect but did not speak. At this, Hermione continued, "You know who I am... I am Hera. I have ways to sway Zeus into declaring what he never would have thought of before. What you want, I can do."

He nodded and said, "Very well. What is the price?"

Hermione's eyes glazed over his workshop before settling over the single wiry silver object that caught her attention. "That."

He followed her focused gaze and saw the Portkey. He picked it up and muttered, "This?" Fingering it slightly, he debated whether it was worth it or not. Finally, he looked up and said, "What do you want it for?"

Hermione had not thought of this and bit her lip slightly. _Think, Hermione... think quickly!_ "Nothing of particular consequence, I assure you with utmost sincerity. Your craft is a very unique piece of art; I wish to have it chained to a necklace."

Thankfully, he did not question her. Looking up, he agreed and said, "I will do this... but with some minor alterations. I love Aphrodite, and that you must know, and I wish nothing harmful to her. No; I want you to pull it on Aries instead." He hesitated, looking Hermione in the eye, and she knew he was serious. "Make him fall in love with you and break his heart in turn, so that he will know what he has done to me. He must not know about this plan."

Hermione faltered at this proclamation. She hated Draco with the greatest passion, but his declaration was too much to ask for. However, knowing that she wouldn't have to do anything drastic, as she'd receive the Portkey before she had time to carry any promise out, she agreed.

"My second and final alteration is..." He hesitated. "I will give you this figure only after his heart has been broken."


	9. Chapter 9

**NOTICE: I will be unable to update all of July and some of August, due to traveling/camping stuff. Sorry!**

In which I will make a sorry attempt to flesh this story out and speed the process up a bit and drop more clues on the Maiden's history and family.

Thank you all so much for your reviews! (I tried to reply to all of you, but with my randomly crashing virus-infected computer--shutting down all my windows randomly and often--I simply couldn't. It took about five tries sometimes to get one review reply across. Sorry!) I was pleased when I saw how many of them told me where to improve! Thank you all sooooooooo much! You all rock!

Okay, so, starting this chapter (included), there's no more rewrites. Here, I start working with creativity and imagination instead of rewriting stuff. So, hope you enjoy the next chapter!

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Chapter Nine

His response was met with utter and complete silence. And this was to be expected, for how else would one respond to an outrageous declaration such as this? It did not even hit contact with Hermione's mind immediately as she blinked slightly, hearing the words but not devouring it completely. However, as each passing syllable settled itself and executed its meaning, Hephaestus was only met with a longer silence, for the shock then had to fade away.

Hermione felt her heart suddenly stop pumping and all the blood rush cold as her face turned rather pale. _Malfoy?_ she thought. The name alone was quite repulsive--but to honestly try to have him fall in love with her? The idea was laughable itself, and the thought of the process brought shudders down her back. When the shock had suddenly died down--no, I lied. The shock never died down. The shock had transformed to something resembling to anger, but not quite. It was a little worse than that. Fury? That's a more apt term for it.

"What?" she said, her voice perfectly calm, hoping that her ears had deceived her. If they had, Hephaestus would be a happy man, for he would not have to suffer the wrath of her fury.

However, Hephaestus was not clever enough--or simply did not know Hermione well enough, for he was plenty clever--to realize her emotions and interpret her reaction and confirmed the thought. "I said, have Aries fall in love with you and break his heart. As you have said before, you _are_ Hera."

His latter comment only added fuel to the raging fire within her, using her own words against her. She hated being outsmarted. Absolutely hated it. "And how dare you propose such a _ridiculous_ thought?" she snapped at him furiously. "As you have said, and as _I_ have said, I _am_ Hera. Do you think me so... so..." She broke off, flustered, looking for the right word to fill in. "So _dishonorable_ to do an act such as that?"

He looked at her coolly--a look that clearly read, "Yes, I _do_ think that you would do something as dishonorable as that." He turned away from her and returned to his work, saying, "As you have said, and as I have said, and as you have said again, you _are_ Hera." He said nothing else and Hermione felt quite frustrating, feeling as though she were talking to a solid brick wall. A particularly stubborn solid brick wall that insulted her position. Well, Hera was, indeed, not so honorable--take advantage of her female gender to have her way when around Zeus, but while _she_ would be Hera, Hera would have to find another role to play other than the flirting queen.

And no one would _dare_ insult her.

"Zeus would be disappointed if he were to discover these plans," she said, trying another technique. The anger that she had earlier--that she had managed, somehow, to suppress--turned into fierce determination and stubbornness. "In fact, he would be _more_ than disappointed."

He only shrugged, not caring for a word that she was saying. "He could never banish me," he replied indifferently. "He has no other source for thunderbolts."

Hermione was left at a stump. Why had she so rashly entered this cave in the first place? She inwardly spited herself for it. She should have talked it over with the others first. If she had, perhaps the idiot blond would know and recognize her actions if she did accept Hephaestus's conditions.

That is, _if_. Which she entirely intended not to.

"Let's put it this way," she said with false sweetness. "You do not give me the figure of yours, and I will ensure that your dear wife remains with the war god, and not you." She gave him a sugary smile with a cold, hard look in her eyes that did not quite match her smiling expression. "Understood?"

Hephaestus's face twisted, making his appearance even less flattering than how he was before--as the only god without the typical godly physical attributes. Such a reaction caused excitement, relief, and pride race within Hermione all at once, but such feelings immediately faltered as Hephaestus regained himself and cooled considerably. "As you have said, Zeus would be disappointed if he were to discover these plans," he replied evenly, turning away. "What should happen when I, the god who distributes his thunderbolts, decide not to work... simply because if his dear queen's selfish greed?"

She hated him. That foul god. He seemed to use all her words against her, and she hated being outsmarted. Frustration and fury raced to the tip of her fingers as she tried to restrain herself from lashing out and attempted at a composed appearance. "Well, then, Hephaestus," she said, trying her best to sound unconcerned and even, "we seem to be at crossroads."

"Not at all," he replied, turning his back on her to hammer upon the anvil once more. "I have something that you desire--and I am not willing to give it to you. Thus concludes the argument."

Hermione's eyes flashed angrily. How dare he ridicule her, acting like she had no thought for her own! "You have forgotten one detail," Hermione said, snarling slightly, restricting herself from lashing out further. It made her head feel heavy and hot. "As you have said, and as I have said, and as you have said, and as I have said again, and I will say once more, I _am_ Hera."

Suddenly, the power of those words came over to Hermione. She was Hera. She was thinking like Hera would--without the bit of feisty attitude toward Zeus. And Hera thought like a Slytherin. She couldn't think like a Slytherin! Sly, determined, stubborn, cruel, unrelenting...

_You're painting a picture again, Hermione_, a voice said, floating into her mind. _Drawing the outlines and leaving the rest uncolored._

But a Slytherin. Draco Malfoy was a Slytherin. He was a snotty, spoiled prat. He was _not_ someone she wanted to even resemble. The thought disgusted her thoroughly.

And a little bit of fright.

"You are quite correct at that," Hephaestus admitted, interrupting Hermione's train of thoughts--for which she was grateful for. "Which certainly tips the scale, for no business you conduct will ever be honest."

He was insulting her and giving her credit at the same time. She glared at him and clenched her hands into tight fists, her fingernails digging into the soft skin of her palm. But she did ask for it, didn't she? With her return comment and all. "The business is still unfinished. The figure."

"My requirements still stand," Hephaestus said coldly. "Break Aries's heart, and you will be rewarded with it."

Hermione laughed dryly without any humor flickering in her chocolate eyes. "Must we go in circles, Hephaestus?" she said. "I can pair the two together if my demands are not met."

It was clear that Hephaestus disliked Hermione--or Hera, for that matter--more than he let on. His eyes had narrowed with impatience, irritancy, and hatred--but only a slight hint of the last one. Only a slight hint of the truth. Hephaestus _was_ Hera's son--the son that she had thrown off Mount Olympus and into the sea. However, this unsympathetic action did not make Hermione less angry at the god.

"Or," she continued, her eyes lighting up with a sudden idea, a sudden memory of another myth, "or, I can find Athena..." She faltered slightly, recalling that Athena was Ariise. Would she comply to such terms?

"I care not for Athena anymore," Hephaestus responded coldly. "It is Aphrodite." He cast a hard look over at Hermione. "Are you a coward, Hera, as not to comply to my terms?"

Coward? She was a Gryffindor, not a coward! Her lips curled into a snarl as she lashed out, ready for her palm to collide against Hephaestus's cheek. However, being strong in the arms, he had caught her slap and clenched his own fist against her frail wrist, turning her skin a lovely shade of red--had it not hurt so much.

Naturally, being the ever brave Gryffindor who stared Voldemort down, Hermione refused to let any acknowledgement of pain through. But it _did_ hurt somewhat terribly. _Let go_, Hermione whispered in her mind, willing him to let go. Not that anything would have happened without her wand and the correct incantation, she thought as an afterthought.

But to her surprise, he _did_ let go and returned to his work. "You will not be able to sway me, Hera. You are well aware of that," he said indifferently. "And I will not be able to sway you. We are wasting time."

Slowly but hesitantly, Hermione nodded. "And - I can see that," she said slowly, thinking thoroughly. It would be best to leave now and think up of a better foolproof plan before returning. "But do not misunderstand my words; I have no means that this is over." Giving him a pointed look, she turned on her heel and started to leave.

"And not a word of what we have been discussing, Hera," came Hephaestus's voice from behind her, forcing her to halt in her steps.

She nodded. "Not a word," she confirmed, exiting. Already, she was thinking up of loopholes. Not _a_ word--but perhaps, two words? Three words? Maybe a little more than that? She smiled to herself as she rose back above onto Mount Olympus.

-------------------------------

Draco kicked the rocks as he strolled aimlessly along, without much of a point. Granger had left in quite a hurry, without so much of a word, though, in all honesty, he could see where it was coming from. In her position, he would want to be rid of this nightmare as much as she did. But he was not accustomed to seeing her conduct in with such rashness, and he wondered if she would not set them in a more difficult predicament than before.

Liah, too, had left. In fact, he had not seen many of the Maidens at all during the entire of their stay at Mount Olympus. Granted, it was vast, and he was by no means complaining about the relief he received from the constant flirting with Delilah and Liah's combined efforts, but were adventures not meant so that he and the Maidens would understand each other better? In fact, the most he saw of anyone lately was Granger, and she wasn't exactly the person he wanted to meet the most--especially while he was trying to avoid her.

Not that he saw much of _her_, come to think of it.

Thoroughly confused, he gave up on his walking and took a seat on a nearby garden bench. Running a hand through his hair, he thought about the recent turn of events. His mother's health, his own future. The Portkey and its history. There were so many mysteries needing to be uncovered. It mocked him, playing with his mind, leaving it even more confused than before.

And ontop of that, he needed to be company with the Maidens.

He often wished that he was back in his Hogwarts days. No, not the later years, but the earlier ones. In first year, when his largest concerns involved House Points, grades, and being ontop of everybody else. Looking back, he must have been quite... obnoxious back then, being a short first year trying to worm his way up the ranks. He himself had been quite irritated with such first years when he was a high-ranking sixth year.

He shook his head, ridding himself of such memories. Wistful thinking would do no good. He needed to find a way to return, and as soon as possible. He could not conduct any research here on Mount Olympus. The days that stretched into weeks were stretching into months, and he did not want to wait the whole while. A two day adventure was bad enough. But this... keeping him from the library, from researching--

He laughed slightly to himself. Never had he sounded more like Granger.

Suddenly catching himself in his ideas, all traces of humor froze in place and were immediately lost as a slight shiver went down his back. His comparison with Granger had disturbed him. _Never_ did he want to have anything in common with the bookworm--well, maybe, except for their intellectual ability. And might he add that his knowledge force was _very _strong indeed?

He sighed. This two-sided view of him was wearing him out. He needed to play charming bachelor (well, to all but Granger, and _that_ was a relief. He couldn't imagine playing charming before the bushy-haired witch.) as well as researcher. He needed a break out...

Perhaps he should contact Zabini? Maybe some of his other Slytherin school friends--no, wrong word. Companions. Maybe some of his other Slytherin school companions would be of some help--

He lifted his gaze and caught sight of Granger walking past once more. He frowned slightly, his curiosity peaked. He stood up, but she did not seem to notice him. On a closer look, she seemed to be too caught up in her thoughts to notice anything at all, her eyebrows knitted into a furrow.

As she started to walk past him, he caught her by the wrist. Through this contact, she tensed and spun around, as if ready to defeat an enemy. When her eyes settled on him, however, she eased slightly--though why, he would never know, and a somewhat irritated expression crossed her face. "Oh, it's you."

He was surprised. Wasn't she going to insult him more? Or perhaps their discussion earlier had taken out her anger on him? In that case, he would feel extremely shocked. As well as a bit put out. He would miss their enemy fighting days.

He watched her, waiting for her to continue, and she seemed to be watching him, waiting for him to speak up. At last, she sighed, irritated, saying, "Are you going to let me go?"

He cocked his head over to the side and said evenly, "Are you going to tell me what happened?"

She opened her mouth to retort but seemed to think better of it and fell silent. She, too, cocked her head to the side in thought. "I might," she said slowly.

He watched her intently for a moment. Was she trying to convey something? "Will you?" he pushed.

She shrugged as she removed her hand from his loosened grip. He noticed it was rather red--but he didn't hold onto her _that_ hard, did he? No, he was quite certain he didn't. How could her wrist be so red? Was her skin _that_ tender?

She noticed his gaze. Instinctively, she hid her wrist with her other hand and her eyes flickered up to his somewhat nervously. She shrugged, trying to escape the foreboding topic of the red mark, but her reluctance to carry on the conversation only further peaked Draco's curiosity. "What happened?" he said, watching her intently, searching for lies.

"It's--nothing," she replied somewhat hesitantly, her eyes flickering to the floor. "I just--I sort of--_stumbled_, and, err... I fell off of the mountain and my wrist got tangled in a grape vine..."

She wasn't a bad actress, he mused to himself lightly, surprised. Her reluctance at exposing the truthful information was covered with a false embarrassing, pride-killing story, and he would have been fooled--if he had not been brought up the way he had. He knew an ounce of _Ligilimens_, but only to a limited extent, resulting in the mere ability to suspect someone of lies.

"Interesting story," Draco said calmly, nodding his head, starting to circle her as a vulture would. "Except I have a difficult time believing in that. Tell me, what _really_ did happen?"

She visibly stiffened and returned his gaze with her own irritated one. "I told you," she responded, her voice hinting at her rising temper. "Don't be so nosy."

She was getting fed up with him again, he noticed. And, if she blew up once more, she would refuse to speak to him--something that he couldn't allow if he wanted her to help him research. Merlin knew that he would never succeed alone. Shrugging, he questioned evenly, "Is nosy defined as 'concerned about returning home's current status?'"

He saw Granger open her mouth to retort, but then, once again, changed her mind. Pausing slightly, she said somewhat timidly, "Well, I certainly _have_ conjured an anomalous plot twist."

Draco's eyebrows rose at the statement. "Have you?" he commented, interested. "How so?"

Her eyes darted from left to right, as to make sure there was no one around. "Follow me," she muttered, her voice dropped down low. She led him out, weaving through buildings and gardens. At last, they arrived to a secluded area surrounded by soaring trees and protected by a trickling stream. How the sunlight still reached the small patch of grass they stood on, Draco honestly did not know.

Swiftly, the witch created a silencing charm on the area around them and, after a moment's hesitation, a temporary ward. However, it was evident that she still wasn't quite comfortable. And all Draco could do was wait for her to speak, for if he pushed her, she may blow up and refuse to utter a single word.

At long last, she did speak. "I have promised not to speak a word of my... _conversation_ with Hephaestus," she said.

He blinked slightly in surprise. Of all things he had expected, he was not expecting her to be blunt, but it was clever. He wondered briefly why he had never done that before, telling others he couldn't tell them just to give them a heads up.

"But," she continued, a small grin forming on her face, "I am assuming I can speak every word besides the one word I have selected from our conversation, and in this manner, I will be able to keep both my promises and inform you at the same time."

Draco's eyes widened slightly as he understood her meaning. A smirk made its way onto his lips as he nodded approvingly, all ears. This girl should have been a Slytherin...

-------------------------------

She was slightly hesitant, to say the least. She had made a promise, and she had found a loophole around it--and she felt awfully uncomfortable telling the blond wizard before her about the argument she had experienced with Hera's son, Hephaestus. She fidgeted slightly, trying to decide which parts of the conversation she should filter through--should she tell him the whole thing, or only part of it?

Hermione Granger, masquerading as Hera, opened her mouth to speak. Her voice sounded oddly strangled as she tried to decide how to start. "I--I originally offered a bargain for him to accept," she said. Would he hate her, strike her, for her initial intentions? After all, he might have liked Liah. "Since, according to myth, the Goddess of Love cheated on Hephaestus with Aries, I offered to cast revenge on Liah in exchange for the Portkey."

He watched her, his eyes never leaving her. Nodding slightly, he said, "I take it didn't work."

Hermione let out a humorless laugh. "No, it didn't," she agreed, turning away, shaking her head. "But he was willing to have a bargain completed and would have offered the Portkey under different circumstances."

His eyes started to narrow in confusion. "What do you mean?" he said, frowning.

She bit her lip, wondering if she should tell. She let out a heavy sigh, weary from the debate that fired back and forth in her mind. She recalled one of Hephaestus's requirements: that he must not know of the plan. _Tell him! He has the right to know the truth!_ Yet, she still protested. _How would he respond? He may prefer that I not speak at all..._ But since when did she care what Malfoy thought? Perhaps it was worth telling him, just to see the shock and disgust that crossed his face.

Nodding, she rashly decided on this, simply to see his reaction. Yes, she would tell.

"He would give me the Portkey once I had broken your heart," Hermione responded evenly, her voice hardly betraying her own horror at the idea. "I must have you fall in love with me and snap your heart in pieces once you've fallen."

She watched him intently, searching for a reaction. He paled slightly as his eyes widened in shock. However, he recovered quickly, perhaps more quickly, suppressing the shudder that Hermione could see about to surface. He swallowed, and Hermione could almost see the conflicts going on in his mind. She waited his decision as she anticipated her own. Was it right to tell him? Now that she told him the plan, Hephaestus's offer would be faulty. But... how would Hephaestus know?

Nervously, she waited Malfoy's response. And finally, it came, but it was not quite what she expected. He was smirking now, his eyes sparkling with a bit of mischief.

"Well, then," he said lightly. "I accept."

He spoke with an air as though it were settled, and that was it. He spoke as though it were that _simple_. But Hermione, with dawning realization, didn't even know if the offer was valid anymore, since she had blabbed the truth to him. She fumed inwardly, aggravated with herself. Why couldn't she have slipped it to him more discretely? Now--

But wait, she thought. Hephaestus never specified what he meant by "this" when he had said, "He must not know of this." And she decided, Draco would never know that he was not _supposed_ to be aware of the plan that Hephaestus had set up.

A grin made its way across Hermione's face. "Well, then, Malfoy," she said, "let us wish ourselves good luck."

-------------------------------

_She_ was quite satisfied, living in their state as goddesses. She watched from behind trees and bushes how all those other Maidens ran around, frenzied. Perhaps Hermione was the worst of all--and she wouldn't blame that witch, with Zeus whispering sweet nothings in her ear. She could see the shivers that went down Hermione's spine and inwardly sympathized with her, but she couldn't help but be satisfied in her own selfishness.

She had no problem admitting her personal selfishness. It was her reason of being, the reason of being caught in such a difficult dilemma at the moment. Denying this personality trait would be denying her life, her background, her upbringing. And though she spited herself for it, she couldn't stop the habit trapped in her mind, plaguing her thoughts.

Today, years after the climax of her life where things started to turn over downhill, she was still caught up in the issue that had been her downfall. She was still suffering the consequences but still carried the source. Call her stupid, she called it reluctant. She couldn't change.

She sighed. Though others might, she did not want to return back to the real world. She never did. Even before, when she had helped in all those other more frightening adventures, she had not wanted to return. And now, without a monster breathing down her back, where everything was so peaceful, she would be even more reluctant to leave. She would help them return, of course, for it was her duty as a Maiden--but she did not want to leave.

After all, why would she? Here, everything was fine. There were maids to serve her, the scenery was simply beautiful. It was the picturesque ideal world, the place everyone wanted to be. And here she was, in this perfect realm, all hers.

Her eyes flickered to the floor as she thought. After all, it was here that the real world troubles would not concern her. She would not have to suffer the demands of her--her-- She cut herself off short, shaking her head. _No, it is best not to think of that_, she told herself, removing the image completely. _Think of happier thoughts, like this perfection that you're living in_.

And, with a slow and uneasy smile, she shakily stood and walked, not wanting to return. But of course, she could never show her reluctance, for if she did, they would begin to suspect.

And she couldn't let that happen, for if that did happen, _they_ would find out. And when they found out...

...well, she would fear for her life.


	10. Chapter 10

**PREVIOUSLY AQUIRIIS, NOW INTRICACY**

**T**his chapter reminded me of the fact that both Hermione and Draco are characters in Greek myth/history, which prompted a sudden inspiration of a story line of a Draco/Hermione story. However, this will not be written until sometime later in the school year, after we've read Homer in class, so I get a better basis for the story. So keep an eye out for future fanfic _Rule of Greece_.

**S**o… I'm back! Thanks for all the well-wishing comments! I am back! Luckily, my flight home was in between two typhoon dates (my poor, poor friends who returned to America on the typhoon dates. XD) so my trip was pretty successful. As well as camp.

Sorry about the delay. I hit writer's block with… well… all my stories. So this chapter might not run as smoothly, but I'll try my best. (Last time I hit writer's block in this part of the story, I rewrote the entire thing. Heh.) Hopefully you guys will enjoy it. Sorry it's mega short… better than nothing? Cause if I wrote it to the normal length (around double this length), you wouldn't get an update until next year July. XD

Just a note that (if you didn't see my author's page) I will NOT be able to update much this school year. I get home around 5:30 everyday and I'm stuck with homework and studying and utter chaos and confusion. However, my goal is to update weekly over the summer to try and catch up. So start counting down days! XD

* * *

Chapter Ten

Hermione lifted her fork and knife as she cut herself a piece of meat. It was well into dinner, and no one had spoken for a good while now – though this was perfectly fine for Hermione, as she did not intend on speaking to Zeus at all. In fact, it would have been even better if Zeus had not been present, but she supposed she shouldn't push her luck. After all, him _not_ trying to snog her senseless was quite a rarity, and she was thankful for it.

"Ahem."

Someone cleared his – or her – throat. Hermione cursed inwardly. That either meant they were about to speak, or they had some remains of food stuck in their throat. She sincerely hoped it was the latter. Closing her eyes, she thought silently, _Please do not talk… please do not talk…_

"Hera."

Sighing, Hermione forced a smile on her face, suppressing her feelings of annoyance. "Yes?" she said, her voice strangled.

Zeus was looking at her in a concerned manner: a frown, his eyes glaring at an angle at her, his brows furrowed. His jaw was working, perhaps on a piece of meat, or maybe he was only mad. His shoulders were squared, and it seemed as though he was restraining himself from something.

"I _noticed_," he said in a forced calm, "that you and Aries have been spending a lot of time together lately." He cleared his throat once more, his eyes never leaving hers. It was quite unnerving, actually.

Hermione bit her lip, her mind racing for an excuse. Aries – god of war. Was there a war going on? Zeus mentioned something along the lines of a war on the first day of their adventure… what was it? Zeus was drumming his fingers on the dinner table now, waiting for an answer. The longer she took, the more suspicious it would seem.

In a disregarding manner to buy her time, Hermione flicked her hair behind her back and laughed lightly. "Oh, Zeus," she said teasingly, "you jealous so easily."

_Troy! Zeus mentioned the battle of Troy on that first day – _

"Well, then," he said in his controlled voice, "would you care to explain?"

_- but Hera purposely distracted Zeus from the battle of Troy, according to Greek myth. If I break away from Hera's role and bring up Troy, what would happen?_ She was running out of time. Letting her simplistic smile turn into a frown, she said, "I've heard of Troy's current state and wondered about it." Keep it simple and vague; it should explain enough.

"Oh, yes," Zeus said, his angry expression lifting and fading away. "Troy." He'd seemed to have forgotten about that. Nodding slightly, he said, "Yes, yes; that _is_ terrible…"

His voice faded away into thought, and silence consumed the dinner once more. The silverware clinked against the cutlery as she ate, hoping the silence to last. However, her hopes were to no avail, as, once again, Zeus decided to speak.

"Yes; what is the latest on Troy?" Zeus said.

Had he neglected his entire country that he did not even know what was happening to it? The thought was quite laughable, and indeed, Hermione almost laughed aloud. However, she managed to restrain herself and said in a confined voice, "Nothing brilliantly interesting. However, I must credit Aries; Helen is a work of masterpiece, though I cannot say so much for her husband."

She was reflecting on the myth she vaguely remembered from her youth. Athena, Hera, and Aphrodite fought over whose beauty was most profound. They descended to the mortal world and asked a man and, when he determined Aphrodite the fairest and rewarded her with the Golden Apple, Aphrodite in turn blessed his wife, Helen, with the most magnificent beauty. No doubt Hera resented this, and she used it to her advantage.

Zeus had noticed this comment and he remained silent for the remainder of the meal, and for her, the drama ended that day. But it was not such the case for everyone.

------------------

"Aries."

It was late at night, and Zeus came in all his glory to the god of war, his toga billowing in the gust of night wind. Draco, his platinum blond hair in a contrast to the surrounding dark, turned around, bowing slightly in respect to the god. "Zeus," he said courteously.

Zeus cleared his throat. "There are some… affairs I wish to discuss with you." Draco nodded, prompting him. "I need you to tell me about Hermione."

Draco froze. His heart seemed to have stopped beating and blood rushed to his head. No, he was wrong. His heart didn't stop beating. It was beating so damn fast, so damn hard, that he felt lightheaded and couldn't feel it at all. How did he know? Was this supposed to happen? Did Granger slip up? "I don't know what you mean," he replied stiffly at long last.

Zeus was frowning now. Was he annoyed? What affairs did he mean? Did he mean the fake affair between him and Hermione that they'd decided to start on this afternoon to play to Hephaestus's demands? How much did he know? "Who do you think I'm talking about? What other Hermione is there?"

A pity for Draco that he did not study as many varieties of subjects as Hermione Granger, and his knowledge of Greek mythology was at a limit. All that ran through his mind was, _He knows. He knows. Damn it, he knows! How'd he find out? Did she tell? Why, damn it? He knows!_ "How… _much_ do you know?" he asked hesitantly.

Zeus sighed heavily, getting impatient. "Nothing that matters now," he responded, and his answer was far too vague for Draco's liking.

The anxiety that built up within him lessened slightly – but only slightly. Perhaps she didn't reveal the rest of them. "Well, what do you want to know?" he said tightly, avoiding giving any extra information.

Zeus was clearly irritated by Draco's evading. In an aggravated voice, he said, "I want to know what's her role in this war. I know you plan on using her sometime, Aries."

There. Aries. Zeus didn't know about him yet. The knot in his stomach loosened considerably, but not completely. Her role in this war. What war? Was he referring to the war between them and Hephaestus? Perhaps he'd noticed the little things they've done together already within Hephaestus's line of sight, in which case it would be a war between him and Zeus. But he wasn't using her. Well… not _exactly_…

"I'm not using her," Draco responded. Zeus only looked at him strangely, slightly disbelievingly. "I'm not," he said firmly.

"But you're using her family," Zeus responded.

Draco couldn't understand. And before he realized it, he'd said, "I can't use her family; they already died in the war."

Zeus paused for a moment and Draco realized what he'd just said. He'd revealed a bit of Hermione's life. Horrified by what he'd done, he froze shock still, his heart beating. Fast. Horribly fast. After all, he still didn't quite understand the rules of the matrimony tradition – but he had heard of an heir who was trapped in an adventure after revealing one thing too many.

When in Rome, do as the Romans do. Roleplay. Pretend. Rules of structure and wisdom that had been passed down from wizard to wizard, and for a good reason. Purebloods needed to be able to act. Hide pain, hide secrets. Act like nothing's wrong. A pureblood's life is entirely acting.

And this, a pureblooded tradition… he doubted it would be an exception. Chances were, besides finding their soul mate, the matrimony celebration was likely to be a test. To see how worthy the pureblood is. To eliminate the laggards, as to keep the keep the pureblood family high and clean. Everything was always a test in the pureblood world. No wonder so many people turned away from tradition and fate, but they were called blood-traitors. They were called weak.

For some odd reason, Draco Malfoy had never noticed that before. He was proud of his heritage and mocked the Weasleys, the most famed blood traitors, often and openly. And while he still could not perceive why Muggleborns were supposedly their equals, he was beginning to relate, caught in a horrible tradition…

"Already?" Zeus repeated, yanking Draco out of his thoughts.

In a desperate attempt to mend over what he said, "Well, not quite." What he said was beyond him, but Zeus seemed to be somewhat satisfied, and that was all that mattered.

"On the verge, then," Zeus said, nodding. "We'll pursue this conversation tomorrow." He then turned to leave, headed toward the grand stone castle that kept Hermione captive. Only royalty resided there.

_On the verge? What in Merlin's name…?_

"Good night, sir."

------------------

_Oh, Merlin. Help me. Save me._

Did not the Greek myths claim that Hephaestus was supposedly the only hideous god? Crippled, they claimed. They said he was ugly! His leg was twisted – that much was certain. But his face… his face, though scarred…

And his eyes.

Merlin. His eyes burned through her, setting her soul on fire in pain and guilt. So much like the time so long ago… Only he could ever look at her that way. Only he could ever hate her so much.

"I didn't mean to," she whispered, her words swallowed by the heavy silence that hung closely around her, suffocating her. Her breaths came short and quick. A hand to her chest.

_Merlin, if you could help me… But you didn't help me then, either…_

He came back for her. Even as she escaped the confinements of her own home, he followed her in her nightmares, and now, into this imagined reality. She was courting another man, and still, he came.

His presence never left her.

He left his mark hard onto her soul, and she feared it would never wash away, no matter how many times she scrubbed herself until her skin turned bright red.

She could never run away.

Escape or destroy, he told her once. You can run away from your fears, but they'll follow you until you stand up and destroy them.

But she couldn't destroy her fears…

…because she already destroyed him once.

And she would do anything to bring him back.


End file.
